Femme Fatale
by AliWC
Summary: Future Fic: Neal's four years are up and his plans to go back to crime have been thwarted.  Gen.  Neal, Peter & El feature prominently.  General spoilers from all seasons inside.  Further warning in each chapter.
1. Confusion

**A/N: **I do not own White Collar. This is a future fic. All mistakes are my own.

**Beta credit:** Thanks to **Mam711** who actually deserves more credit than just that of a beta! The plot details, characterisations, punctuation, and inspiration are just a few of the things she helped me with!

**Femme Fatale**

**Chapter 1: Confusion**

**Day 1, 4:43pm  
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Neal woke to silence. He looked up first and stared unseeingly at the ceiling; he was still groggy, recovering from something that kept him confused and sloth-like, but he was wary. The ceiling was white. It took him five minutes of blinking to realize this. Then, when he noted the unfamiliarity of what he was staring at, Neal merged into defensive mode. He rolled stiffly up into a sitting position. A wave of vertigo forced Neal to freeze in place perched on the edge of the queen-size bed.

Neal moved his hand to his stomach as if to stifle the nausea that didn't seem to be going away despite his limited movements. He licked his lips and swallowed lubricating his dry throat.

So far Neal hadn't wanted to do much more than squint towards the floor; it was too bright but as his eyes adjusted to the light he put up a hand to shield his face and took a look around. He was in a large room, white-walled and clean; the floor consisted of wooden floorboards. It looked like any room he'd find in a suburban house.

Grimacing Neal looked up towards the source of the light and slowly dropped his shielding hand while blinking. He was staring at a window. The window was high up, near the roof, designed to let in light but not a view. At the back of his mind Neal guessed the window looked out on something ugly; maybe a neighboring building or alleyway. The window also had bars. That wasn't unusual. Lots of apartments had bars on the windows for security reasons. Nevertheless the bars made Neal uneasy.

He looked away towards the door; it was about fifteen yards away but because Neal felt sick at the thought of walking all that way, it seemed more like a hundred.

Confusion gripped Neal as he scanned the door. It was wooden and normal except for one thing. It had no handle. Must be a swinging door Neal decided.

Where was he though? Neal couldn't remember how he'd found himself there. Something drew his attention away from the door. About two yards from the entrance sitting on the floor over to the side were shopping bags; about six or seven of them.

Neal rubbed his head and was tempted to lie back down; the nausea in his stomach wasn't fading, but he was in an alien place. His instincts told him he needed to move, to find out where he was, and to call Peter. He moved his gaze in a wide circle. The entire right side of the room was bare. The left side was a different story. There was another door. It was ajar. Neal could see tiles in the crack and he concluded that a bathroom lay beyond the door. His stomach lurched and the bathroom seemed like a very good place to be to Neal.

But he didn't jump up and dash over with any sense of urgency. He groaned and shifted, not feeling particularly motivated to do anything that involved moving. Instead he concentrated on finishing his scan of the room. Past the bathroom door in the direction of the entrance and on the left was a kitchenette, bordered by a counter island. Behind the island and against the wall, from where he was sitting, Neal could see cabinets below a smooth wooden counter and a fridge.

He wondered where he was again. Eventually he felt the dizziness fade to a mild presence.

Neal decided to stand. It was a good time for it. His stomach had settled into the background of Neal's tired and sore body almost as if it knew it wouldn't be getting what it wanted just yet which Neal suspected was food.

He stood slowly, expecting the floor come rushing up to meet him but it didn't. Whatever it was that made him feel vertigo earlier seemed to be fading.

He took a step forward and froze almost immediately.

Something metal had rattled and clinked.

Recognizing the sound, Neal dreaded looking down to where it had come from. He stared in shock at the manacle attaching a chain to his ankle.

Neal's mind whirled through all the possible scenarios that would involve being chained and he could only come up with one that made sense. He'd been kidnapped.

He steadied himself and decided to deal with the chain after he figured out where he was. Fortunately he seemed to be getting better by the minute.

His need for answers grew stronger and he looked back to the door.

He started forward intending to look beyond the door and see what was on the other side. He might recognize where he was then.

He was about two yards away when the chain went taut, stopping him from reaching the door.

Neal looked down again; this time his head didn't protest although a headache had remained.

He cursed; he'd have to pick the manacle before he could get to the door. Presently Neal realized something that should have occurred to him already; if he was chained, then he was a prisoner and if he was a prisoner, then that door….

It didn't matter, did it? He scanned the door warily; it didn't look very strong. Just plain wood, Neal resolved to break through it if it was locked. But before he could, the manacle was in his way.

No problem, he could pick anything, except for that damned anklet. Neal blinked; the anklet, the one that was no longer there—Peter had taken it off barely hours ago ... how had he forgotten that?

Drugged; he had to have been. It would explain his nausea, dizziness, lapsed memory and empty stomach. He'd probably been asleep for hours!

Okay, Neal scratched his head; his thoughts were still jumbled, wait, he'd just finished his four year sentence, hadn't he? Yes and there was a big party at the office, he'd been there, of course he had, the party had been for him; free at last ... free?

Neal gritted his teeth, honestly! Was he never going to be free?

He looked at the ankle chain; whoever had kidnapped him obviously didn't know who they dealing with. His jaw set, he promised himself that they would know very soon!

Neal did however have one grateful thought: he still wore his own clothes; they were rumpled from having been slept in but no worse for the wear and it meant no-one had attempted to change him in his sleep; small mercy.

He went back to the bed having nowhere else to sit, and sat. The room was large and could fit any number of furniture in it, but it was completely bare, save for the bed. It didn't matter, Neal wasn't hanging around anyway. He lifted his ankle onto the bed and pulled off his tie pick (more evidence that whoever was behind this wasn't very smart), then he brought the pick down and twisted the manacle a full revolution around his ankle and ... stared.

Neal's mouth hung open; there was no lock! Neal breathed heavily, knowing he had severely underestimated his kidnappers; clearly they did know about his lock-picking skills; the manacle had been welded on! Neal followed the chain with his eyes; there had to be a weakness he could exploit, but no, the thick chain wound on the floor like a snake until it passed through a circular hole in the middle of a slab of metal that had been concreted into the brick wall. Neal stared in dismay and stood again. He edged to the hole and tried to look through to see if there was something on the other side but the chain disappeared into the darkness. He yanked on the chain a few times but it didn't give. He stood and turned.

This time he took great care in scanning his surroundings. He looked back towards the bathroom. Clearly the chain would allow Neal to reach it. Neal headed over there, now fully conscious of the weight on his ankle, and looked through the doorway; in the smaller room were a toilet, shower and sink. Neal ran his hands through his hair. Okay, there was nothing in here that he could use, absolutely nothing.

As his eyes passed over the toilet again his bladder made itself known. He sighed.

After Neal had relieved himself and drunk some water out of the tap (he'd been terribly thirsty) he moved back to the doorway and stood stiffly, staring now back at the large room. He couldn't help it as frustration bubbled to the surface; he'd been free of the FBI for mere hours before having that freedom snatched away again. What was going on here?

He didn't have to wonder for much longer. He was edging back towards the bed, trying to stay positive; telling himself that once the kidnappers made themselves known, he would be able to con them into making some mistake that would allow him to escape. He also knew that Moz, Peter and El and maybe the rest of the FBI would be looking for him; he may not be working for them anymore but Neal remembered this much: he had promised El he would meet her to say goodbye back at Peter and El's, so they would at least know something was wrong; Neal never reneged on his promises!

Neal looked up sharply. He could hear the sound of locks, locks that sat only on one side of the door, but who cared; the manacle chain stopped Neal from even being able to reach it. Neal instead concentrated on schooling his expression as he pocketed his hands and took on a casual demeanor; he couldn't let these people, whoever they were, know that Neal Caffrey, the elusive con, infamous forger, and talented thief, felt like a rat in a trap. He felt prepared to face down whoever it was; whether they be old friends getting revenge for his consultancy, or a 'client' he'd screwed over, or some criminal he'd helped Peter put away.

Neal had many enemies so he was expecting the kidnappers to be any number of people but he would never have guessed who it really was; it was the last person on the planet that Neal expected to see...

The door swung open and a silhouette moved forward cautiously, "Neal, are you okay?"

Neal felt his eyes widen in shock and he took an involuntary step back, then he stopped himself; there had to be a rational explanation for why she was here.

"Elizabeth?"


	2. Shock

**Chapter 2: Shock**

Elizabeth Burke—wife to an FBI agent—stepped forward and looked at Neal worriedly, "Neal how's your head?"

Neal's eyes narrowed; that hadn't exactly been a question he might have expected from Elizabeth if she were here to rescue him.

"Elizabeth?" Neal's voice carried tension and El knew he was asking a different question with her name this time.

She sighed. "Neal, I need to know. Do you need an aspirin?"

Neal shook his head in disbelief; no way—it ... it couldn't be!

"You?" Neal accused, gesturing with his hands in shock, and staring at Elizabeth.

El remained silent, recognizing that Neal wouldn't be answering her questions just yet.

Neal scanned her. El was standing calmly, hands by her sides. She looked like she'd been at the office; she wore black slacks and a slim white blouse beneath stylish black overcoat. Her blue eyes gazed back into his with soft wariness and her dark wavy hair hung loosely styled over her shoulders. She looked taller because of the heels but still appeared gentle and clearly, easily underestimated.

Neal tried to identify her expression, and, after a moment of thought, it came to him. Her expression conveyed an assured strength and determination, tinged with concern- it reminded him of the time El had come to him for help when Peter had been accused of accepting a bribe from a federal Judge.

Neal noticed El was standing just beyond the limit of his chain; he looked away: more evidence of her guilt.

Neal shook his head again. He couldn't wrap his head around this...

"Why?" he growled, surprised at his own threatening tone.

El tensed at Neal's tone and Neal felt a spike of satisfaction, and then sobered; this was El, Peter's wife and his friend; he'd never spoken to El with anything other than politeness, admiration, or respect and that shouldn't change.

He took a deep breath and looked at El again. "Why, El?"

This time he was firm and calm.

Elizabeth noticed the change in his demeanor and visibly relaxed a little—not a lot—but enough that she felt confident enough to step forward; Neal could now reach her if he walked over, providing she didn't move back again.

Impatient yet willing to listen, Neal shifted his ankle pointedly. "Elizabeth?"

El deliberately ignored the sound of the chain shifting. "You were going to leave. People will be after you now that you aren't protected by the FBI. I don't want you to get hurt or thrown into some foreign prison. I'm trying to protect you, Neal!"

Neal narrowed his eyes, deliberating; he doubted El was telling the whole truth. He knew El worried about him sometimes but she worried about Peter too; he didn't see her locking Peter up. "That's not true. Tell me the truth Elizabeth."

Then it all dawned on Neal. Peter and El had talked about what he was going to do once the anklet came off; they'd probably come up with all sorts of horror stories and they had known that despite four years helping the FBI (albeit under threat of prison), Neal still felt the call of a criminal life.

"No, you just don't want me to do what I've always done." He looked at El who had stiffened. Neal knew he was right and he turned away. "So you thought the best thing was to lock me up again?"

El stood firm; this was something she had given a lot of consideration; this was the only way she could be a hundred percent certain that Neal would be safe. She spared a thought for all the would-be victims of Neal's schemes. She was doing this for the good of many. She watched Neal as he raked his hair.

Neal turned back to her, his eyes hooded in dissatisfaction. "Where's Peter—tell him to get his butt here, I want to talk to him."

El looked away, surprised that Neal thought Peter could be helping her. "Neal, he doesn't know."

Neal frowned then looked at the welded manacle. He spoke with skepticism, "You welded this yourself?"

El nodded, "I did metalworking with my Dad for a project one summer."

Neal looked at her once then turned away to the wall and tucked his hands in his pockets. He needed to work this out; El was no ordinary kidnapper. Even assuming he wasn't friends with her, he knew he couldn't con her; she was as smart as—if not smarter than—Peter. She had clearly planned this for a long time.

Neal scanned El over his shoulder warily. "You drugged me, didn't you?"

El sighed. "I'm sorry, Neal. How are you feeling? Any dizziness?"

Neal couldn't remember it but he assumed El had offered him coffee or wine, both beverages that he loved and thus would have drunk without a moment's hesitation.

And of course he'd had no reason to distrust a beverage that El had prepared.

"At first, yes, but not anymore," Neal replied distracted, using the time to run his mind through all the escape options. He came up empty; this was a scenario he'd never imagined could happen and had therefore never planned for. "I feel sick in the stomach though; and I've got a headache."

El nodded, concerned, "I'll get you some aspirin and some dinner; you're probably hungry. You've been asleep for almost twenty hours."

Neal looked around at the alien room. "How did you get me here alone?"

El wasn't sure telling Neal all this was a good idea but she figured she at least owed him a few answers. "Wheelchair."

Neal turned and looked up wearily. "Peter really doesn't know?"

She shook her head lightly and Neal accepted it knowing she was telling the truth. He should have known that Peter would never do this. He was too much of an upstanding agent to consider breaking the law like this.

El saw his tired acceptance of the truth and decided a few more steps forward were probably harmless. Peter insisted to strangers constantly that Neal was as harmless as criminals came but she was fairly certain that Neal had a bit of panther in him: he could be dangerous if he wanted; right now he had plenty of motives so she found herself all too aware of Neal's movements.

Neal noticed El's wariness and frowned. He moved a calculated step forward and El took a quick reluctant step back.

Neal sighed and let his shoulders fall. "El—I'm not going to hurt you."

El looked into his eyes. "I don't know, Neal. You're probably really angry with me."

Neal felt a flash of annoyance. "You don't think I should be?"

El gazed back neutrally. "I would be surprised if you weren't."

Neal shook his head irritated.

"I may be angry at you, Elizabeth, but I won't ever hurt you." Neal had tried to speak softly, but he couldn't disguise his frustration for long. "I don't understand why you've done this- I mean-what exactly is this El?"

Elizabeth sighed unsurprised at Neal's ire, "Neal, I'm sorry, but I know you, you would have ... you might have been hurt, I didn't want you to throw away your future. Peter would have had to arrest you again. No one deserves that. You were being selfish. I thought after working with Peter, that you'd know what you do is wrong—people don't deserve to be conned and stolen from."

Neal stared at Elizabeth intently for a few minutes taking in her words, trying to unravel them, trying to figure out how to deal with them. Eventually he let it go deciding for the moment that he was just too tired—he still had that headache—so he sat on the bed and leaned forward resting his elbows on his knees before wringing his hands softly.

Elizabeth didn't say anything. She just moved forward content with the idea that for now at least, Neal wouldn't threaten her. She sat on the mattress next to Neal and shifted to face him. She watched Neal fiddle with his hands.

Neal shifted next to Elizabeth. "El, I don't con people. I don't…."

"Neal?" Elizabeth's tone conveyed dismay. "Every day you con-"

"Not _people_, not really," Neal tried to explain, "if I do, it's only for information or something they won't even notice is gone."

Elizabeth looked closely at Neal, knowing that he truly didn't understand that his crimes had victims. Most of the companies or galleries he had targeted had insurance and in Neal's mind even if they didn't have insurance the owners deserved to be conned to lose the wealth they'd taken for granted and for having overestimated their own security.

Even when Neal was working with good intentions he broke the rules; he held himself above the rules of the everyday working man and gave himself leave to feel pride on top of that.

Working with the FBI may have even worsened Neal's Robin Hood complex. Too often El had listened as Peter related a story of Neal saving the day by using unorthodox measures.

Had he learned that it was wrong to do things the wrong way even if it was for the right reasons?

No, her husband had merely warned him to toe the line the next time. Too often had Peter ignored Neal's actions to protect him from prison. No doubt Neal had seen this as a grudging acknowledgement of a job well done which only served as an encouragement of Neal's belief that he was superior to the law.

It wasn't all Neal's fault; the FBI hadn't thought ahead like she had to the day when Neal would return to his life of crime, but this time with a validation from the law enforcers that sometimes stepping outside the line was not only forgivable but even allowed or encouraged.

"Elizabeth," Neal spoke softly, bringing El out of her thoughts, "you have to let me go."

El just looked at him serenely, no—he had a few things to learn yet—and Neal felt his stomach clench; she wasn't going to let him go.

Neal felt the stirrings of fear; was he going to be locked up for the rest of his life?

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** Thankyou to 'Anan' and 'Story Unfolding' (anons) and thankyou for all those reviews, favorites and alerts! It's the best thing to wake up to!

If any of you have any nitpicks or concrit, then *rubs hands with glee* please let me know!

**Beta Credit**: Thankyou Mam711

I don't own White Collar, and all mistakes are my own.


	3. Disbelief

**Chapter 3: Disbelief**

He felt truly powerless and after a minute he chuckled mirthlessly. It was ironic that he had his own kidnapper sitting next to him, shoulder to shoulder and there was nothing he could do; he cared for El too much to try threatening her and it wasn't like blackmail against El would work, nor would pick-pocketing; the manacle had no lock and therefore no key. There was literally nothing Neal could do.

Neal decided to try anyway. He searched El's pockets under the guise of shifting to be more comfortable but found nothing. Inwardly, Neal smiled appreciatively. El was not to be underestimated.

El looked at Neal, confused at his dry chuckle, and Neal gave a soft smile, "I have to give you credit, El. In all of eleven years even Peter couldn't lock me up this securely."

El shifted uncomfortably and sat up. What Neal said wasn't true; Peter could—he just wouldn't.

She pulled out a wad of neatly bunched papers from her overcoat pocket—catalogs—and bundled them into Neal's lap. Neal stared at them; there was a mixture: El must have been collecting them for weeks. There were catalogs for everything Neal could think of, barring consumables. He picked one up randomly and read the brand on it: 'Pottery Barn'.

He looked at El. "El?"

El gestured, "it's the least I can do; I can ring them up as charges under my personal business expense account. Event planning can be a perfect cover sometimes."

Neal pursed his lips and looked around the room. "El, you can't keep me here."

El stood up, not interested in Neal's attempt to reason with her. "I'm sorry, Neal."

Neal didn't even try to stop her; he just remained sitting on the bed, watching El with concern.

Elizabeth moved over to the right of Neal's bed and pointed to a red button adjacent to her head, "push that if you need me. Push it twice if there's a fire and I'll call the fire department. There's an extinguisher in the kitchen and a smoke detector …" El pointed to the ceiling, "… up there. Push the button three times if it's a medical emergency and I'll send paramedics. First aid kit's in the bathroom."

She paused, scanning Neal carefully. Neal was looking at the button carefully, wondering why he hadn't seen it before. He considered the full ramifications of the button.

El must have seen something in Neal that she didn't like. "I have a tape implicating you in crimes. I'll hand it in if you use that button to escape."

Neal scowled. "What's to stop you from using that against me anytime you feel like it?"

Elizabeth smiled. "I promise you, Neal; I'll only use it against you if you push that button. For everything else—I'll find some other incentive."

El patted his shoulder and withdrew her hand sharply when Neal jerked away from her touch, irritated. She sighed but didn't comment.

Neal watched as she headed to the door.

"Are you going already?" Neal asked resentfully. As irritated as he was with Elizabeth, he didn't want to be left alone for who knew how long. He still had questions and he knew he'd only get angrier in her absence.

El shook her head. "Just down the stairs, to the other kitchen; I'm going to get your dinner—and your aspirin."

Neal relaxed slightly but maintained his scowl; no need to let El think he cared if she came back or not.

Elizabeth locked the door behind her which only served to make Neal's gut tighten with shock. Was she actually serious? Had Peter Burke's lovely, charming, generous, kind-hearted, smart, free-spirited wife really, truly kidnapped him and chained him up?

* * *

><p><strong>5:16pm<strong>

Elizabeth returned fifteen minutes later to find that Neal hadn't moved. She scanned his face and body language. He seemed to be absorbed in his thoughts for a few seconds before he wiped his face clear and watched her with a guarded wariness.

She smiled but Neal remained stony-faced. He did, however, look with interest at the steaming foil-wrapped plate in El's bundled dish towel. She seemed to sense his hunger and walked over before holding it out. Neal spared a thought for El's redeeming qualities; for instance, she wasn't the kind of person who would show a dog a bone then whip it up out of its reach. Neal glanced up at El and took the offered plate with a nod of thanks.

"Before you eat," El murmured, sitting down next to him, "here, take this and drink some water; the Flunitrazepam probably dehydrated you."

"The what?"

El had a couple of white tablets in her palm. She fed them into Neal's hand and then stood and walked over to where the shopping bags sat before retrieving a bottle of water. She returned and handed the bottle to Neal.

"It's a sleep-inducing drug, a BZD drug."

Neal knew what BZD stood for. Benzodiazepine. He frowned; El had actually used that on him? Neal resolved never to underestimate a coffee again—or was it wine?

He took the aspirin and water, washing it down with little hesitation (trying not to think about the fact that he still trusted a beverage from El). Neal had never had enough patience to deal with a headache where he could avoid it.

Despite his yearning stomach Neal found himself unable to eat. He was thinking too much, and slowly his thoughts were making him angry again.

"I don't deserve this, El." Neal frowned up at El who was standing apparently aware of Neal's growing discontent. She moved a few casual steps away and gave an apologetic nod.

"Neal," El was considering her words very carefully. "You aren't ready. You need to learn. You can't go back to crime. I won't let you."

Neal doubted he had ever felt so violated. What gave El the right to decide that? What the heck was going on?

He looked up and gave her a narrow glare. "You can't keep me here."

El ignored him and Neal realized this was her reply in and of itself; she could, she would and he couldn't stop her. He watched in disbelief as El walked over to the open door with no handle. She was about to head out but then the bags caught her attention.

She gave a succinct nod to Neal and gestured to the bags as she spoke, "I'll be back in a few hours. There's some things in there you might need. If you get bored you could put them away."

Neal couldn't help looking at the length of chain that coiled loose on the floor before his bed as a thought struck him. The bags, he realized, had been placed in that odd spot quite deliberately. It was as if El had….

"El, did you measure this thing?"

Elizabeth looked back at him and replied softly, "maybe."

In the doorway El paused and gestured to the catalogs in Neal's lap under the foil-wrapped plate. "Circle whatever you want... If you don't, I'll decorate this place myself."

"El!" Neal called out pleadingly, but when she turned and looked at him again, he saw her resolve; he was going nowhere fast, so he looked down at the catalog in his hands and gestured, "I need a marker."

El's eyes softened and she rummaged in her shirt pocket before bringing out a red ballpoint, the pen she used to mark off her invoices, and threw it in the air to Neal who caught it deftly then watched as she closed and locked the door.

Neal had had enough of trying to understand what had happened to him. He didn't want to think for the twentieth time about what had possessed Elizabeth to do this to him. He carefully placed the meal on the bed beside him, ignoring his protesting stomach, and stood up before taking a deep breath.

He felt frustrated. He had a constrictive feeling in his chest and he knew he'd have to calm down or it would only grow tighter. He closed his eyes and worked on his breathing.

In and out, in and out, but it wasn't working.

He looked around for something to distract him. The bathroom door hung wide open and seemed to beckon him invitingly. A shower, that's what he needed. Neal remembered, though, that the bathroom had been devoid of supplies. He felt his eyes shift to the boring brown paper bags near the end of the room.

He walked over wondering if El's event planning skills had been utilized.

He halted by the island counter and looked down at the manacle; he had been right. There were maybe one and half yards of chain left. He figured it was for El's sense of security. She probably appreciated the safety of knowing that she could get in the door without the worry of being ambushed.

Neal pulled the bags towards him and peered in each one. Three of them, to his relief, held shower supplies: soaps, razors, shaving cream, deodorants, a comb, styling mousse, a toothbrush, toothpaste, a hand-held mirror, toilet rolls, towels, facecloths, cotton balls, Q-tips and ... lots more. Neal felt dread at seeing just how thorough El had been. It just added to the fact that El intended to keep him there for a long time.

"Thanks, El," he muttered to no one as he scooped up the bags and took them into the bathroom. He placed the supplies on the floor; Neal didn't really want to see what else was in the bag, there was probably a frigging shower cap in there; El's thoroughness scared him, so he'd unpack them properly later. Instead he pulled out what he had already seen: soap, a comb, and a towel, then he moved over the shower stall, promising himself that he'd leave his stress behind. He was going to enjoy this shower.

He pointedly ignored the fact that he wouldn't be able to close the shower door all the way; the chain would block it. He spared a mournful thought for the hassle-free anklet he'd become used to wearing for four years.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** Wow, the response I garnered from Chapter 2 was so nice and unexpected!

Thank you to all those who have read this and enjoyed it so far.

A big extra thank you to those who reviewed!

I understand quite a few of you have reservations about El's characterization, so I also want to thank those who let me know that in spite of this, they are still finding this interesting!

**Beta Credit:** As with the rest of the story, Mam711 did another fantastic job!

I don't own White Collar, and all mistakes are my own.


	4. Anger

**A/N:** My beta pointed out a massive story flaw, so I had to make some tiny modifications on the last chapter. Unless you have an eidetic memory like our dear Moz, you probably won't notice them, even if you actively search.

Thanks for all the wonderful and supportive reviews!

**Beta Credit:** Mam711 (without whom you would have been able to drive a truck though several plot holes), thank you!

I do not own White Collar and all mistakes are my own.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 4: Anger<strong>

It wasn't until he'd finished pulling off his jacket and had started unbuttoning his shirt that it occurred to him. He glared at the chain once more and cursed El's name.

How was he supposed to undress—let alone change—with a chain on his ankle?

Neal figured that for the moment he could let his pants fall down around the chain and so he pulled them down experimentally. It worked. Neal shook his head, hardly able to believe El had forced him to leave his precious suit pants crumpled around the chain on the floor. There would be a reckoning. For now, Neal finished removing his shirt and folded it neatly over his jacket on the counter.

* * *

><p><strong>7:00pm<strong>

After Neal had come out of the shower, he had dressed in the same clothes he'd woken in with distaste. It reminded him too much of prison. One of the perks of working with the Bureau had been the ability to dress differently each day, to take on a slightly-different persona each time he'd spoken to someone new, and to exude charm and confidence simply by topping off his image with a fedora.

After dressing and trying in vain to rub his pants free of the new creases and dust, he'd left the bathroom and started straight for the bed, where his hopefully-still-warm dinner lay waiting. He had peeled off the foil with conflicted emotions. One part of him wanted to hurl El's lovingly-homemade meal against the taunting white wooden door, but his stomach protested and finally Neal promised himself he'd find something else to throw at the door—maybe a deviled ham sandwich if El ever tried to bring him one of those.

When the foil came off Neal had stared at his dinner, looking at it from every angle that would help him identify the superb-looking creation.

Neal concluded that it was a chicken stir-fry on rice, though it looked fancier than that. A fork had been provided, so Neal began to eat, savoring the taste, but relishing the meal more as the hunger pangs died away. There was a small china dish on the side of the stir-fry. Neal had set it aside. After he set his fork down on the empty plate, he'd picked up the dish and had taken the foil off slowly. Upon seeing what it was, Neal had given a small smile. El had given him dessert—a strawberry tart. He had wondered if this was a sample from a catering business or El's own cooking.

Presently, Neal was sitting cross-legged on the bed amidst the catalogs which were strewn all around him and on the floor. There were so many, and in having nothing much else to do Neal had spent most of his time poring over the items in the catalog. He'd never really done this before; life as a criminal had not allowed him to settle down long enough to decorate, prison didn't accept furniture deliveries, and June's place had been furnished.

Neal might have ordinarily felt uncomfortable circling anything overly expensive if the money was coming out of El's pocket but El had kidnapped him and therefore owed him. He kept reminding himself of this every time he hovered doubtfully over an item that had caught his attention.

Neal thought back over what he had circled. He had sensibly focused on what he'd need first: a small stylish wooden dining table, two matching wooden chairs, a couch, a microwave, a burner, a toaster oven (Neal had wandered over to inspect the kitchenette for the wiring he would have needed for a proper stove or oven and had found none), a coffee machine (no way would Neal live without one of those), a set of drawers, and a simple closet armoire (he intended to convince El to bring his suits by). He had then leafed though the catalogs again, having forgotten about the smaller things; cutlery, dishes, pots and pans, sheets, and a few other obscure things that were borderline necessary/desirable. He also circled a mobile phone knowing El would disregard that part.

There were catalogs for entertainment so Neal took that to mean that El wouldn't object to Neal choosing things to stave off boredom. There wasn't a lot he could choose from. He picked a television with the presumption that El would be able to provide cable, but ignored the stereos and mp3 players; he had his favorite songs on his iPod at June's. He was reasonably sure El wouldn't mind fetching that along with his suits and anything else he remembered to ask for.

Because the room had been bright at first it wasn't until night came and the darkness started to settle that Neal thought about lamps. Fortunately the room did have a light with dual switch control: one was by the door and the other switch was just outside the bathroom, but the light was hardly adequate. What if he wanted to read? Or paint?

Painting.…

Neal would demand his easel, he decided, along with fresh canvas, his sable and china-bristle brushes, of course, and his high-quality paints too. At this point in time, Neal was not impressed with Elizabeth.

* * *

><p>The door was being opened for the second time; he knew chances were it would be El, but found himself wondering again if El had help.<p>

But no, El was alone. Neal scanned her for a sign of how he should behave. Would he try to convince her to let him go by nagging, or would he use reason? Would scaring El with the possible consequences work?

But the way El carried herself made Neal think it would all be pointless. He read her resolve, her confidence and—most importantly—her wariness. Nothing Neal said would be taken at face value; it would be analyzed and rejected. Neal wasn't going anywhere anytime soon. He decided to try anyway … but how?

El walked straight over to the bed, looking in concern at Neal. "How's your head?"

Neal gave her a shrug. He was still a little angry, but mostly frustrated. "It's fine, clear."

El nodded, and then scanned the catalogs. "How's the decorating going?"

Neal looked critically at the mess he'd made and starting scooping the papers into a pile. "Well, looking at catalogs is interesting enough, but there're only a few things in there that I'm going to need if I have to live here."

El nodded. "Yeah, but Neal ...," El picked up a random catalog and flipped through it. "... the idea is to pick things you want, not just what you need... You didn't even pick anything from this one!"

Neal rolled his eyes. "I don't harbor any desires to decorate the place, El; aesthetics are only necessary when one intends to remain in..."

"Neal!"

Neal looked up at El and rolled his eyes; she had on her stubborn, displeased face.

"El—just let me go!"

El shook her head, annoyed that Neal was repeating his demands but Neal interrupted before she could say anything.

"No, El—do you understand what you've done?" Neal questioned emphatically. "Kidnapping is illegal; you could be arrested and imprisoned! I don't want that. It doesn't matter how long you keep me here; I won't ever turn you in, but someone will find out. It's bound to happen and if they do, there's nothing I can do to help, it's not like I can tell them I like welding my ankle to walls!"

El stood back with a surprisingly-calm expression; she waited until Neal finished his lecture before nodding. "I know, Neal; but it's a risk worth taking; Peter and I can't deal with finding out that you're dead or in some place where we can't pull you out."

"What about you?" Neal demanded, ignoring El's assertion that he meant that much to her and Peter, "How's Peter supposed to cope when his wife is arrested and thrown into prison?"

There was a silence. Neal filed that tactic away; maybe if he used it often enough, El would cave. When the silence stretched from seconds into minutes Neal spoke again, "Are you going to tell him?"

"That I've imprisoned a man illegally?"

Neal took a deep breath; Peter deserved to know and yet at the same time, if El ever told Peter the truth, Peter would ... he would face a very difficult choice.

Then El spoke again, "yes, I intend to tell him … eventually, after your absence had been accepted by the FBI."

Neal nodded. "Plausible deniability."

El nodded stiffly. "Yeah, I'm hoping they just put it down to what could have been the truth."

Neal crinkled his eyes quizzically. "What are you talking about?"

El's gaze hardened. "What were you planning on doing, Neal?"

Neal looked away, uncomfortable with the question.

"Yeah, you were going to disappear anyway; go back to that fun life of crime."

Neal gritted his teeth; bitterness—not something he heard come out of El often.

There was a silence as Neal considered whether he should bother to continue convincing El to let him go before it was too late, and he decided there was no use. "Just … tell me you were careful."

El sank to the bed and scooped the catalogs out of Neal's hands.

"I was very careful," she assured him.

Neal nodded; he would have to be satisfied with El's answer for now.

"So, let's start with this one," El declared; she had in her hands the very first catalog he'd picked up, the one for Pottery Barn.

"Neal, what color scheme did you have in mind for this place...? You should choose light colors because the window is your only source of natural light, but it doesn't accentuate the room features very well.

Neal replied automatically, "if I had to choose colors I'd go with a light tan and off-white color scheme."

El murmured appreciatively.

"Elizabeth," Neal muttered, annoyed that he'd been distracted enough to answer El's question, "I'm wearing my entire wardrobe."

El bit her lip, knowing Neal was truly distressed by the idea of being without additional clothes. "Neal…."

"And," Neal growled, "just how do you expect me to change pants with this stupid chain on my ankle?"

Elizabeth paused. She looked at Neal, who was shaking his head slowly as if daring El, silently, to deny him what he considered to be an important part of his dignity. As she opened her mouth to reply, Neal cut over her, with a wounded tone. "Don't tell me you expect me to wear these again!"

"Neal!" Elizabeth spoke with exasperation, "no, okay, I don't. You'll be able to change every day. Don't worry."

"Okay," Neal allowed, visibly relieved, but still wary, "when are you bringing my clothes then?"

"Neal," Elizabeth sighed.

"Fine." Neal backed off and plucked a catalog off the bed beside him. "Fine. See, the couch I chose takes the lighting of this room into account…."

* * *

><p><strong>9:36pm<strong>

It was late; he could see the time on El's wristwatch. Though it didn't specify whether it was 'am' or 'pm', he knew it was nighttime; the light outside was non-existent.

"Won't Peter wonder where you are?" Neal asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

El looked at him. "Peter isn't the only one with a demanding and unpredictable job."

Neal smiled, appreciating the double meaning in El's words.

He took a deep breath. "Elizabeth?"

El looked up again, tensing. "Yes?"

"What exactly is your plan here?" Neal waved airily around the room, but El knew he wasn't talking about the decorating.

"You're right, Neal," El muttered, "I should head home."

Neal grimaced, knowing El was deflecting the question; she probably didn't know any more than he did. He nodded though and helped El pick up the catalogs.

El took the papers from Neal gratefully and assured him, "I'll order these ASAP."

Neal shrugged; in all honesty, he still didn't intend to stay long, although, he had to admit to himself, grudgingly, that at this stage, he didn't have a lot of choice.


	5. Futility

**A/N: **Thank-you to all those who are continuing to read and enjoy this story! Thanks to all those who took the time to review, including Duffy1 (disabled PM): it's very much appreciated!

**Beta credit:** Thank-you to **Mam711**, who I recommend to anyone who needs a Beta!

I don't own White Collar and all mistakes are my own.**  
><strong>

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 5: Futility<strong>

**Day 2 10:26am**

Neal had slept fitfully; he'd risen a half dozen times and paced, nearly tripping on his chain each time. When he finally did fall asleep properly he didn't wake up until after nine, something Neal hadn't done since his teenage years, but Neal didn't know this; there was no clock, although he did have one coming to him by way of Elizabeth.

He spent the next hour and a half shooting down his own ideas of escape; there was nothing he could think of that didn't have a flaw.

When Neal's ideas proved fruitless, he turned to physically testing the boundaries. A quick sweep of the eye had told him yesterday that the chain was strong and unbreakable. And it was, but Neal still spent at least forty minutes trying and failing to find a weakness this morning.

He'd tried separating the metal plate from the concrete slab. He'd tried wearing away the concrete. He hadn't tried ruining the brick surrounding it because he had no way of knowing it led anywhere—he did not want an eyesore to remind him of his failures, and he was fairly certain that El would have ensured that he'd fail any such attempt. Next, Neal had tested the chain itself. He'd searched the bags for anything remotely strong enough to break it or dent it and he'd come up empty. Finally, Neal had tried placing the chain under a foot of the bed where he could pick up and drop the bed leg onto the links. It hadn't worked despite his many attempts, and Neal had finally lowered himself onto the floor with a weary sense of hopelessness.

He'd have to bide his time. He'd find something eventually. El would let down her defenses soon enough.

* * *

><p>The first he knew of Elizabeth's arrival that morning was the smell of a mouth-watering breakfast. The door opened, though Neal had the impression Elizabeth must have been multi-tasking; she'd had difficulty.<p>

When the door swung open to reveal El holding a few bags, Neal stood up and gestured. "I'd help you out, but..."

Elizabeth smiled and ignored his not-so-subtle barb; instead she dumped the bags by the door and dashed back out.

Neal frowned; there it was—an open unguarded door and there wasn't anything he could do.

He took a few steps forward and listened.

Eventually he heard the sound of Elizabeth's returning footfalls and watched with interest as she walked back in holding a small ornate wooden table. Neal recognized it; it was the small table he had chosen from the catalog at El's insistence for the living room space.

Neal wondered how El was going to bring in all the heavier furniture; maybe he could convince her to tell Peter the truth by using the furniture as an incentive.

"You … they can't have already arrived."

El shook her head. "No, they haven't; the ones I ordered are going to take a week to come in but I figured I could bring in some of the smaller stuff myself; at least now you've got a table—it's better than none."

"El ... you're not going to be able to bring in all that other stuff alone."

Elizabeth held her breath. Here we go again.

Neal continued insistently, "not alone, you'll end up getting hurt—either you tell Peter so he can help or you let me go."

El looked at Neal, hands on hips and cocked her head. "I'll be fine."

Neal shook his head and raked his hair, frustrated. "Okay, look, at the very least—let me help you."

Elizabeth's mouth thinned. "How are you supposed to do that?" She gestured to the manacle on Neal's ankle.

Neal looked at her steadily. "It's simple; take it off."

El rolled her eyes. "And then what? You'll go back docilely?"

Neal nodded. "If that's what it takes to stop you from lugging in heavy furniture on your own..."

"Neal—stop it!" El was angry, maybe frustrated. "Nothing you say or do will make me take that thing off; you might as well get used to it."

Neal glared then gave up; El was too stubborn.

El softened. "Neal, I've rented a stair-climbing cart; men are delivering those things downstairs; I'm not going to be doing much heavy lifting, and I'm not as helpless as I look."

Neal glanced at El darkly and muttered loudly, "Oh, I know you're not helpless."

El frowned; it was another barb. Neal seemed to be spouting more lately. He wasn't usually petty, but then—she'd never kidnapped him before either...

Neal seemed to realize that he'd let bitterness creep into his tone and he looked at El but remained silent. The truth was, if it had been anybody other than El, he would have shown his disgust and irritation at their abuse of his freedom—even Peter would have been treated to a much more intense confrontation.

But it was El.

He couldn't take back his irritation, and he didn't really want to; El deserved to know he wasn't happy but he didn't want to hurt El any more than he already had, so he shrugged and moved a few paces away.

El looked sharply at Neal's ankle; she hadn't become used to the sound of the chain dragging on the wood yet; it was rather confronting—she'd done that. She had caged this man, the man who had saved her husband countless times and had done her many undeserved favors.

"Neal, I'm sorry." Elizabeth implored Neal to look at her; she needed him to be okay.

Neal sighed but didn't turn; instead he spoke softly, "El, I haven't been free for the last eight years; you can't expect me to be fine with this."

El's chest compressed with agony. "I know, and you can be angry with me—I just need to know you're going to be okay."

Neal turned, his eyebrows knitted together and after a long time he spoke softly, "keep visiting and I might be."

El gave a nod of relief. "It's a deal."

Elizabeth picked up the bags containing food and brought them down next to the coffee table.

She smiled and spoke lightly, "I've been shopping all morning; I had to keep reminding myself that I could indulge and buy all sorts of things that Peter wouldn't touch with a ten-foot pole."

"Can't cook much yet—not without a proper kitchen," Neal muttered as he sat down on the floor near the coffee table, shifting the chain so it was out from underneath him.

El cringed at the sight of Neal casually brushing his chain aside, like it was a leaf on the ground at a picnic. Neal noticed she had frozen; he smiled wryly—nothing about this situation was normal. He felt intensely protective for his captor and his captor hated the idea of imprisoning her captive.


	6. Tension

**A/N: **Thank you to all reviewers including Minievoo (disabled pm)! Also, thank you to all those new readers who gave my story a chance!

And yes, this is another 'short' chapter, so rest assured I'll post the next chapter soon to make up for it.

**Beta Credit:** All credit goes, once again, to **Mam711**!

I do not own White Collar and all mistakes are my own.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 6: Tension<strong>

"El, come sit," he encouraged and El nodded absently, then sat.

"El," Neal murmured, drawing Elizabeth's attention away from his ankle, "tell me, how was Peter last night?"

El thought back, knowing that Neal was mostly just trying to distract her. She shifted off her legs and rummaged in the bags for the food she had bought specifically for breakfast.

Neal watched as she pulled out boxes that contained pancakes, waffles, toast, bacon and eggs, then lastly two plastic knives and forks. She handed a set to Neal. "Um, he was ... confused, he said, he thought you'd hang around long enough to say goodbye to him."

"Hmm," Neal frowned, "well, next time I see him, I'll have to assure him it wasn't him; that I was only kidnapped by his devious wife."

El smiled weakly, recognizing the light jest. "Would you have said 'goodbye'?"

Neal sobered. "I wasn't going to, no; I was going to call him. I was worried he was going to somehow rope me into having to stay—looks like I worried about the wrong Burke."

This time El took a deep, almost exasperated breath; it was her fault really, but Neal pursed his lips. "Sorry, El, I'll try not to….."

"It's okay, Neal," Elizabeth replied a little too quickly, then decided to change the subject. "I went by June's; I asked her if I could collect anything of yours, I told her that you'd asked Peter and me to keep your things safe because you wanted to travel as soon as you could. June told me to take all the suits; said they were yours."

Neal looked at El between mouthfuls of waffles. "That was nice of her."

El nodded in agreement. "Yeah, they're still in the car; I'll bring them in with the other stuff."

Neal finished off his waffles and pulled one of the boxes of bacon towards him. "What other stuff?"

El paused, holding a fork, about to stab a pancake. "More furniture, pieces that were easy enough to bring, like the table, except these will have to be assembled; I brought Peter's tools—thought it would be something you could do."

Neal tensed and El noticed; she spoke firmly, "I checked the tools; there's nothing ... useful."

Neal nodded, unsurprised, with a smile teasing the corners of his mouth; it looked like Peter wasn't the only Burke who could read his mind.

"You should know," El spoke lightly, "you're in the attic of a townhouse I inherited two years ago. My uncle, in his most paranoid years, spent thousands of dollars turning the attic into a sound-proofed fortress of solitude; it's perfect because he intended to turn this into a safe room. He never really finished, but it has a working bathroom. Anyone who investigates is only going to see a normal house that is going through renovations."

Neal stared at El. "This is a sound-proofed attic? No one's going to come looking in an attic…."

El nodded. "Exactly."

They ate the rest of breakfast in silence. Neal was feeling slight monophobia now; no neighbors, no one to hear him shout—even if he wanted to be found (which he didn't because that would get El into trouble—he needed to escape without help, if at all).

"What happens if something—heaven forbid—happens to you? I'm kind of helpless without you here, El," Neal pointed out.

El nodded. "I left a message, whether I've been forced to leave New York, or I'm hurt, or I'm dead, Peter will receive it within thirty-six hours. In the message, I tell him what I've done and where you are."

"You've thought of everything," Neal stated, "but what if Peter gets hurt too?"

El shuddered at the thought. "I put another letter in a separate fail-safe. I've stated it needs to be read by Agent Hughes if we've been incapacitated for three days."

Neal spared a moment to appreciate El's organizational skills. She was a force to be reckoned with.

A thought seemed to occur to El. "But unless I reactivate the fail-safe each time I leave this room, the messages will never be delivered; it's electronic."

Neal narrowed his eyes. He could tell El was just saying this to stop him from attempting anything negative towards her, but he merely nodded once; he didn't intend to hurt El, so it was a moot point.

El stood and piled the empty food cartons into the bag. "I'll be back; I bought a new trash can among other things."

Inwardly, Neal hoped there was one thing El hadn't thought of: Moz.

Neal knew Mozzie would know something was up if he hadn't contacted him or if he couldn't trace the forger's steps; he was that good—actually no, he was that paranoid.

El returned with another few bags and a plastic trash can.

He peered through the bags; compared with the bags El had already supplied before he'd even woken to this nightmare, these ones were more random: cleaning supplies, a few books from June's apartment, his lock-picking set (Neal grinned at the irony), his watches (it was now 11:49am), his wallet (not his phone, he noticed), assorted paintbrushes, a palette, his vast supply of canvas, and the paints—and iPod—he had planned to ask for.

Neal stood back from the bags and pursed his lips. Elizabeth sensed Neal's dissatisfaction. More out of curiosity than anything else she arched her eyebrows.

"Something wrong, Neal?"

Neal regarded her carefully and tried very hard not to pout. "I can't see any clothes."


	7. Order

**A/N:** Thank you for bearing with me guys!

**Beta Credit:** Many thanks to **mam711**, who is also a terrific writer...

I do not own White Collar and all mistakes are my own!

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 7: <strong>**Order**

El had disappeared while Neal was rummaging through the new bags; she had been gone awhile. Neal guessed she was taking her time with bringing up the luggage and 'stuff' she had brought with her in the car. Neal smirked at the thought of all the suits, ties, shoes and socks, hats and various other clothes El would no doubt have to contend with bringing up the stairs. He knew she'd have to take at least five trips for his clothes alone.

When Neal found himself tired of waiting in boredom, he figured he'd take El's advice and head into the bathroom to unpack the bags he'd deliberately ignored, save for his shower the previous day.

Later on, Neal would wonder why he hadn't felt the chain moving, or why he hadn't heard the sound of a panel opening and closing. He would then conclude that the bathroom door was to blame. That, and the excess length of chain. The door blocked the sounds of El working in the other room and the excess chain absorbed any movement long before it reached Neal's ankle.

When Neal came out of the bathroom, he noticed two new things.

First he noticed a pile of suitcases standing by his bed covered by at least six fully-stuffed suit bags.

It was like Christmas. Neal felt inexorably relieved upon seeing that El had kept her word and brought him his precious suits.

He might have gone over and immediately checked if anything was missing. Only one shirt went with that navy suit, after all, and if it was missing, that was an entire outfit he couldn't use. But he was distracted by the second thing he noticed.

Over by the wall, where the chain disappeared into it, was a vaguely familiar bundle. It seemed to be tangled in the chain itself. As he neared, his eyes informed him that the bundle was, in fact, his clothes. That was odd.

Neal reached the wall and picked up the bundle of clothes. A clean pair of underwear and a fresh pair of slacks were stuck on the chain. Neal held the clothes out before him, spreading them out. The chain wound its way through the left leg openings.

Neal frowned. Behind him he heard the door open. Neal turned, clearly perplexed.

Elizabeth stood looking at Neal. "I would have thought you'd have changed by now, considering how desperate you apparently were."

Neal looked down at the pants in his hands then back at El.

El gave a lazy gesture. "Just feed your old clothes through the new ones and put the new ones on. Come on, Neal, you're supposed to be smart; surely you can work that out."

Neal understood, but….

He looked back at the place in the wall the chain disappeared into and gave the chain a tug.

It didn't budge.

Neal gestured with the clothes. "How did you…?"

El pointed briefly to the wall behind Neal. "There's a double chain system on the other side."

Neal scanned the hole in the wall. It had to be far too small.

"The clothes are on this side," he countered pointedly.

Elizabeth nodded, and then her face broke into a delighted smile. "You never found the panel?"

Neal felt horrified at the thought that he'd missed something.

El moved over to the wall, still self-conscious of her location around Neal.

"Actually, it is hard to see from this side," El admitted.

Neal squatted next to her and ran a palm over the metal that El was looking at. Sure enough. Touch revealed to Neal what he hadn't been able to see.

"So, you open this to feed the clothes through on the chain?" Neal traced the invisible groove right around the edges.

El stood up. "Right, it's locked from the other side."

Neal looked up at El, in deep thought, and then stood. "When you're feeding the new clothes through, what makes you think I won't pull the chain free?"

"It's a double chain system …" El replied carefully, "… means you're always secured."

Neal tried to picture this 'double chain system', but he couldn't. It didn't really matter; he didn't doubt El's words.

"Besides," El added, "you want to be able to change, right?"

Neal gave a simple nod of assent; he'd received the message: 'appreciate, don't question, and don't push'.

"I'm going to shower," Neal announced. He rummaged in one of the suitcases and suit bags, withdrawing a matching button-up shirt, suit jacket and an undershirt.

He then headed to the bathroom, threading his pants along the chain, having chosen to ignore any embarrassment. But still, seriously, there would be a reckoning.

When Neal emerged from the bathroom, he felt much better. The change of clothes had done wonders for his ego. After dumping the old clothes near the well-hidden panel, he actually forgot about the chain, so when El left the room again he started after her, receiving a reminder when he reached the limit. Neal frowned; he guessed he'd do that a few more times before it became second nature to avoid walking beyond the edge of his woefully-short tether. He couldn't help but feel frustrated with El again; how had he let her do this to him?

Elizabeth ended up making approximately ten more trips to the car before she finally managed to bring in everything she'd either bought from the shops or brought from June's.

Neal was impressed with El; she'd brought in more furniture than she'd let on with the help of the stair-climbing cart, including the two end tables that were going to bookend the couch which were sitting in individual cardboard boxes waiting to be assembled, as were the shelves chosen for the books and various belongings, the entertainment unit (El had had to dismantle this downstairs and bring it up bit by bit), a chest of drawers for his clothes, a laundry hamper and a microwave. In the other bags were many of the smaller items Neal had circled in the catalogs, including the burner, toaster oven, pots, pans, and to his utter delight, a brand spanking new coffee machine. Neal smiled at it. He'd take it with him when he escaped, he decided.

El recited a list of the delivery items she was expecting would arrive Friday: the couch, wardrobe, recliner, and foot rest. The television wouldn't be coming in until the weekend, El explained apologetically, as she was waiting for her sister to bring by her old one. But it was a good one, Neal had been assured: a flat-screen. Apparently her sister's husband had won a brand new state-of-the-art 3D television, which rendered the old, still-new, flat screen obsolete.

Neal looked through the remaining boxes that El had either packed supplies into or had bought already packaged from the store; a clock, a cutlery set, plate and glass set, two lamps (for the bookend tables), bed linen, more towels, a kettle and all the food that El could think of: salmon, spices, pasta (uncooked), cooking oil, sauces, spreads, instant soups, bread, chicken, vegetables that Neal liked and some he wouldn't have minded El forgetting, fruit (which El put out into a fruit bowl on the island counter), flour, beef, pastry, and even some things Neal didn't recognize.

Elizabeth explained that Neal would have to go into the bathroom for water as—for obvious reasons—El couldn't bring in a plumber to build in a kitchen sink but Neal just let the words wash over him. He wasn't really paying much attention anymore. The sheer amount of shopping El had done only served to weigh him down, to make his chain feel heavier.

"El," Neal looked at Elizabeth pleadingly, "you have to tell Peter."

El dropped her shoulders. She wanted so much to tell Peter, but she was afraid that Peter wouldn't understand why she'd done this to Neal, and that if he didn't, he might be forced to arrest her. She was also afraid of turning him into an accomplice. Both these fears were contradictory; only one or the other could happen so if El told Peter she had to expect one of these fears to be realized.

Neal knew all this, but this was getting out of hand; El was setting him up to live in this apartment (or cell, depending on Neal's mood) permanently. At the very least, no matter what Peter ended up deciding, Neal knew Peter would be able to protect El, that he'd be a voice of reason and a source of strength.

Neal wasn't deluding himself; he knew there was a chance that Peter would protect El by not releasing him. Neal highly doubted it. But whether Peter would let him go or not wasn't his primary concern at this point in time. He wanted Peter to know so that he could help his wife.

Looking at all the things El had brought in, it seemed like El was desperately trying to keep it together by being busy, by being organized and over-compensating. Despite all appearances, Neal didn't think El was coping. It wouldn't be long before El broke down, he was sure; she was running out of things to do.

When he saw El begin to shake her head, he moved forward and held her elbows. "El, no, this isn't me trying to get out of this; I want you tell Peter because you need him. If it helps, I'll tell him not to tell anyone—I want him to protect you, El... Hey, Elizabeth, look at me, you need to tell Peter; he loves you, I promise you he'll understand."

Neal saw the confusion flash across El's eyes. "Why would you ask Peter to protect me?"

Neal patted El's elbow. "Because that's what he'll do regardless."

El knew that the 'protection' Neal was talking about didn't necessarily mean the kind that an agent could offer a criminal—legal or otherwise. She guessed the protection Neal meant had more to do with her mental health. While it was sweet that Neal worried about her, she knew he was wrong. He just needed time, she decided—they both did. Just some time to adjust to the bizarre situation. They'd be fine.

Neal was staring at her, waiting—hoping that she'd acquiesce. Elizabeth knew saying 'no' would only frustrate him further.

"Let's wait a week."


	8. Reason

**Beta Credit:** Thanks to **mam711**!

I don't own White Collar and all mistakes are my own.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 8: Reason<strong>

**Day 3, 4:35pm**

Neal had spent the last day and a half alone, assembling the pieces of furniture El had brought the previous morning. El unfortunately had to catch up on her event planning; she'd let things lag by planning Neal's kidnapping, and then shopping, but she had promised to stop in first thing the next morning if she didn't come by that evening. She'd left Neal with a good supply of food so Neal had been making his own healthy meals in his kitchen, putting things away as he went. She had also left Neal a spare change of pants and his pajama pants in place by the panel. Maybe Neal should have been grateful and impressed, but the fact that he could go one, maybe two days without seeing El just made him feel worse. When El left him to his own devices, he became obsolete. The world went on without him. Neal Caffrey; criminal genius had been taken out of commission. And there was nothing to do here, except decorate his gilded cage!

And worry: El hadn't returned since breakfast yesterday; Neal hoped she was all right.

Neal was just finishing the set-up of the entertainment unit. He'd already assembled the bookend tables, the shelves, the cabinets, and the drawers, and he'd also put away the supplies where he could; the clothes, barring suits, had been put away in the drawers; the bathroom supplies had been sorted in the cabinets and on the counters.

He'd left the entertainment unit until last because he didn't really have anything that needed to be stored in it. Once he was satisfied with the spot he'd chosen to put the assembled unit (the right wall), Neal plucked a wall hook and the clock out of the bags that he'd grouped in a corner and spent ten minutes testing all the best places to hang it.

It was when he'd decided to hang it on the wall just behind the TV unit that he heard the locks. He placed the clock down on the unit and turned.

El burst through, frowning and holding her phone in her left hand and Neal started forward, worried; El was already pacing, obviously wracked with worry. He had to stop before he could reach her, though; she was still a yard beyond Neal's length of chain.

He stood silently, hands in pockets, and waited, knowing that El was still trying to sort her thoughts and that she would answer the questions in his head soon enough; he just needed to be patient. El finally stopped and looked at Neal as if realizing he was there for the first time.

"Mozzie knows!" El exclaimed, stressed.

Neal kept his face carefully neutral but inside he was cringing; obviously Mozzie hadn't investigated quietly. "El, what happened?"

Elizabeth swallowed. "He … he went to Peter."

Neal narrowed his eyes. "With what? He went to Peter with what?"

Elizabeth moved forward, phone in hand, and Neal had to reject the thought of seizing the phone—so undignified; besides, El could beat him in a scuffle any day. El scanned the room, noticing his assembled furniture, but Neal didn't want El to be distracted.

He waved. "El?"

El looked back at Neal. "After I drugged you, I took your phone and I texted Moz with a message. I pretended to be you—told him you were going to find Alex."

Neal remembered his contact list and he guessed at what had happened, but he let El explain anyway.

"There were fourteen contact numbers with 'M' next to them. I didn't know which one was Mozzie's, so I sent a text to all of them." El squared her shoulders. "I figured the wrong ones would assume it was a mistake."

Neal sighed. "All of them are Mozzie's."

El nodded, "He came to me, worried; he said someone had obtained your phone and pretended to be you."

Neal stayed still.

El shook her head, irritated. "Seriously, Neal, a different number for the morning and afternoon of each day?"

"What happened?" Neal whispered, without bothering to defend his friend's paranoia.

El sighed. "Moz insisted on reporting his suspicions to Peter."

Neal grimaced in sympathy. "But Mozzie doesn't know anything, obviously—so why are you worried?"

El looked at him, wildly, and Neal almost face-palmed. "No, don't tell me—Peter's rushing around trying to find me, isn't he?"

"He's stressed; he thinks something bad happened to you."

"Something bad did happen to me; I was drugged, kidnapped and subsequently imprisoned," Neal pointed out.

El nodded, unfazed, and accepted the truth of Neal's words. "I know—but you're safe. Peter doesn't know that; he's worried about you!"

Neal sighed and eyed the phone. "You need to tell him."

El looked at the phone, too. "Actually, I was hoping if he heard from you..."

Neal nodded slowly. "El—ordinarily that might work but.…"

Neal froze; had he been about to tell her two very good reasons for not calling Peter?

Unfortunately his thoughtless objection had made El think and she began pacing again, annoyed and muttering. "Of course … you want him to know … you'd tell him … if only so that he can help me, and of course this is my phone. Caller ID!"

Neal kept quiet. He didn't want to 'help' El any more than he already had.

Elizabeth sighed, regretfully. "I threw your phone away.… I figured you'd do that if you really had left."

Neal gritted his teeth. "Elizabeth, if I know Mozzie, and I do, he's going to find me and when he does, you won't have any control over what happens. Moz could turn you in."

At the back of his mind, Neal remembered the many times he had seen Moz with El. Those two got along well together.

"He probably won't, but you can't know for sure; Mozzie is unpredictable. Peter, on the other hand—he's smart enough to fend off Mozzie; I mean he found Kate where Mozzie couldn't, remember? Peter will protect you and he's going to find out anyway; you may as well tell him your side before he finds out on his own."

Elizabeth listened quietly, calmly, standing in one place.

Neal continued, "Consider this, Elizabeth, the first thing Peter's going to have to do is involve his team in order to find me. Then what? He and his fellow agents will work out your part in it. Peter will be forced to either arrest you or protect you in front of them; either way you'll end up in trouble and Peter won't be happy. He might even be arrested as an accomplice, especially if he tries to protect you."

El was now looking at Neal, hating the truth of his words.

Neal softened his voice. "You need to tell him while you still have a handle on the situation, El."

El nodded and handed Neal the phone; she couldn't back out now. Neal blinked, surprised. He had assumed El would want to reveal the truth to Peter herself. He looked at her face carefully and noted the tension in her jaw. Elizabeth was hiding it well, but she was fighting to control her nerves.

Before even so much as looking at the phone, Neal pulled Elizabeth towards him then guided her to his bed, the only place to sit available.

Satisfied, Neal took a deep breath and pressed Peter's speed dial.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **Any questions? I always respond...

For the record, I do not believe El is losing her 'health'. Neal does. I think she just showed another part of herself - a part that was patient and lenient when it mattered and tough and proactive now that things have changed. I love El and hold only respect for her character.


	9. Balance

**A/N:** Short, short, short. I know. I'm posting the next chapter very, very soon! In the meantime, let me know what you think. Thanks guys!

**Beta Credit:** Thank you to **Mam711**; the wind in my sails.

I do not own White Collar and all mistakes are my own.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 9: Balance<strong>

There were a few seconds in which the phone rang, and then a second of silence as Peter brought the phone up to his ear. "Hey, honey."

"Peter." Neal breathed.

"Neal?" There was some rustling as Peter rechecked the caller ID. "Why are you on El's phone? Where are you? Mozzie has been worried."

"Peter," Neal spoke again, "I need you to listen, okay; no talking, just listen."

Neal looked at El who was sitting stiffly; listening to Neal's half of the conversation.

"First off, I'm safe." Neal heard Peter exhale with relief. "I'm in no danger."

"Okay, Neal, but where..."

"Hang on, Peter; remember, just listen," Neal soothed. "I'm going to give you an address, hold on."

Neal closed his hand over the mouthpiece and moved towards El, the ankle chain dragging along the floor. "El, what's the address?"

El muttered, "just tell him it's Uncle Tony's place."

He brought the phone back up to his ear. "Peter?"

"Neal, what's the address?"

Neal relayed the name to Peter, ignoring the agent's obvious impatience.

Then Neal realized he had to tell Peter not to tell Mozzie. As much as he'd wanted his friend to rescue him, he knew Mozzie would be a wrench in the works for the Burkes at the moment; if he wanted Peter and El safe from prison then he needed to keep Mozzie out of the picture long enough for Peter to figure out what to do.

"And Peter," Neal sighed, "don't call Mozzie."

Then he hung up and sat down next to El; he put his arm around her while feeding the phone back into her palm before he did something he'd regret.

* * *

><p>Twenty-five minutes later they heard Peter's voice calling in the distance and his footfalls as Peter navigated his way up the stairs to where Neal was, increasingly worried about why Neal would be in El's inherited house.<p>

He finally reached the top floor and stopped short at the sight of an attic full of furniture.

"Peter," Neal's voice called out from within.

"Neal?" Peter approached the doorway and what he saw inside made him halt in confusion.

Neal was standing, having just risen off the bed, a yard or so in front of someone he wasn't expecting to see, despite Neal's use of her phone and despite the house belonging to her.

"El?" Peter walked in, frowning, and glanced back at Neal questioningly. He hadn't spotted Neal's ankle manacle yet; all he saw was a distressed El sitting on a bed with Neal hovering nearby looking perfectly fine.

"Neal, what's going on? Did you rope El into a scam?"

Peter strode across the room to El in worry and stopped short at the sight of El looking up at him with a concerned expression.

Despite her concern, El still displayed confidence. She looked at her husband, wondering where to start. "You need to understand, Peter."

Peter shook his head vacantly. "What, El?"

El stood up, avoiding Peter's gaze, instead locking eyes with Neal, who had remained silent but was encouraging her with his own intense gaze; she remembered what Neal had insisted: 'he loves you; I promise you he'll understand'.

"Peter, I did something—I didn't want him to go," El admitted.

Peter was confused. "Who? Neal? You didn't want Neal to go?"

El nodded and gestured to Neal. "You know he was going to…."

Peter looked at Neal who looked determinedly back at Peter. "Neal, what...?"

Neal's eyes softened. "Peter, El—she..."

Peter looked at El then back at Neal, feeling increasingly frustrated. "What?"

Neal looked down and Peter followed his gaze.

When he saw what it was that Neal was indicating, his heart skipped a beat and El's words came flooding back to him: 'I didn't want him to go'.

Around Neal's ankle was a manacle with a chain trailing on the floor and disappearing into a hole in the plate of metal concreted in the brick wall. Peter gaped, eyes wide with shock then he looked back at Neal's face.

The former convict had a calm look in his eyes.

Peter then looked at El; she was avoiding his gaze and Peter gulped, knowing in that moment what El had done.

Not knowing what else to do he stepped back and gave his wife a despairing once-over. "Oh, El..."

The three of them stood in the silence of Peter's shock for a few minutes before Peter looked away from El and turned to Neal.

He pulled his friend into a momentary, one-armed hug. "I'm sorry, Neal."

Neal shrugged. "Peter, El … she's not coping very well." He dropped his voice low but El still heard him.

"I'm fine," she said absently.

Peter noticed her dejection and looked back at Neal, realizing again just how bad this situation was.

He looked back at Neal's chain. "I thought you could pick any lock?"

Neal nodded, "I can."

Peter frowned. "So why...?"

Neal walked to the bed and sat down. "Go on, take a look."

Peter knelt and shifted Neal's foot to his lap; he gave Neal one last look before seizing the chain and using it to move the manacle to a position where he'd be able to inspect the somewhat-special lock. It wasn't until he'd turned the manacle both ways before it occurred to him.

He looked back at Neal, surprised. "There's no lock."

"Hmm," Neal agreed lightly, "your lovely wife welded it on."

For a second Peter stared at Neal in disbelief then turned his attention onto El.

He couldn't help feeling a stab of annoyance; El had kidnapped Neal. That was a crime and Peter was obligated to arrest her.

El was staring vacantly at the opposite wall; he knew she was thinking about how bad it could get. Peter closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead. "El, you kidnapped Neal?"


	10. Threat

**A/N:** Another short one. I'll update again soon.

**Beta Credit:** Thank you to the ever-patient **Mam711**

I don't own White Collar and all mistakes are my own.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 10: Threat<strong>

El nodded. "When he came to say goodbye, I drugged his wine."

Peter looked at Neal apologetically.

Neal nodded. "The last thing I remember is leaving the office party to go say goodbye to El. I woke up here thinking I'd been kidnapped by an enemy of some sort, and then El walked in."

Peter shook his head despairingly. "Honey, what am I supposed to do?"

El looked at Peter. "Protect him. Stop him."

Peter frowned. "Neal's not the one who needs protecting or stopping—you are."

"Peter," Elizabeth explained softly, "he'll get killed or arrested and thrown into some harsh prison. It doesn't matter where he goes; he helped you guys—he'll be killed as a traitor. This is also the only way to stop him from victimizing people. He was all set to return to crime—you know that."

Peter realized Elizabeth had risked her own freedom to protect Neal and his would-be victims.

He looked at Neal who was still sitting casually as if they were talking about the next time they were going to the movies. "Neal, you don't seem all that bothered."

Neal bit his lip. "I nagged Elizabeth to let me go plenty, Peter, but she's as stubborn as a mule; the only reason she even took my advice to call you was because you were worried about me."

Peter felt helpless; he honestly had no idea what to do.

Neal sensed his train of thought. "Peter."

Peter looked sharply at Neal. "Yes?"

Neal leaned forward and spoke with concern, "Elizabeth needs protecting and she needs help; the stress is getting to her."

Peter responded, confused at Neal's concern, "Neal...?"

Neal rolled his eyes. "Come on, Peter. It's Elizabeth."

Peter knew that Neal most likely cared too much for Elizabeth to want her to be arrested; he looked into Neal's eyes and saw only unyielding concern.

"If you're happy to pretend none of this ever happened..." Peter trailed off, before turning to El at her protest, "El, you can't keep him."

Neal straightened intently. "Peter, the last thing I want is Elizabeth getting into trouble, for this or any other reason."

Peter started to nod but then El stood up and moved purposefully to the door before turning with a determined look in her eyes. "Peter, if you let him go, I'll turn myself in."

Neal and Peter both turned to stare at El in shock; she'd managed to threaten them with the one and only thing that might stop Peter from setting Neal free.

El gazed at the men silently for a few more seconds before leaving.

Peter stood. He had a torn expression, and Neal jumped up, exasperated. "Peter—she's bluffing!"

Peter looked at Neal, still shocked by El's words.

"Peter, let me go, she's only bluffing; once I'm out there she'll realize that I can take care of myself," Neal insisted.

Inwardly, Neal cursed his situation again; no matter what, it seemed El could get one over on him without so much as breaking a mental sweat.

Peter looked down then back at Neal. "Neal—I know El."

Neal, who knew what was coming and was growing angrier by the second, turned his back.

"She's bluffing," Neal growled, "no one would turn themselves in."

"Neal," Peter spoke tersely, "I know El; she doesn't bluff."

Neal took a deep breath; he didn't want Elizabeth in prison any more than Peter did, but he was ninety percent sure that El was playing both of them. Neal decided to change tack. He forced himself to maintain a calm tone and a steady gaze.

"Even if she isn't bluffing and she did turn herself in, I'd just have to say it's not true. I'm the victim; the worst-case scenario is the police think El's craving attention."

Neal watched Peter closely, looking for a sign of acquiescence but Peter's mouth thinned; he'd made a decision and Neal seriously doubted it was one he'd like. He decided to try one last time.

"I will do my damnedest to ensure people know that El did not kidnap me."

Peter shook his head. "El's event planning, it can't take those kinds of allegations."

Neal stared at Peter, inwardly incredulous that Peter could be so calculating, but he knew what Peter said was true; the last thing El's business needed were stories of kidnapping or insanity swimming around the owner.

Even so, Peter denying Neal's freedom because of the integrity of a business of all things—it just made Neal angry. He gave Peter his most venomous glare and uttered his next words with a hiss. "Get out!"

Peter glared back at him threateningly; but then he remembered that Neal couldn't exactly storm out.

"Fine; I need to talk to El anyway."

Peter walked out, shutting the door behind him, preparing to go after his wife and demand that she return to her senses.

Neal sank to the bed and kicked angrily at the chain. He really hoped Mozzie would find him.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** Please don't shoot the Burkes. I need them for the rest of this story.


	11. Defeat

**A/N:** I'm sorry; I had forgotten to thank my anon reviewers: Rae37 and an anon! They each commented on chapter 8. My pleasure and thank you! Also, thanks to the loyal reviewers who make an effort to comment on just about every chapter (if not all of them)! You know who you lot are :D

**Beta Credit:** Thanks to **Mam711**!

I do not own White Collar and all mistakes are my own!

* * *

><p><strong><strong>Chapter 11: Defeat<strong>**

**Day 4, 9:30am**

Neither Burke had returned the previous evening. Neal had been grateful for that; he had remained angry at both of them and hadn't been in the mood for a screaming match.

This morning, however, he forced himself to calm down, to see things from the Burkes' points of view.

Elizabeth had probably resented it when Peter came in and pulled the rug out on something that she had worked very hard to organize, resented it badly enough to threaten—without a second thought to her business—her own freedom.

And poor Peter, he probably hated this situation even more than Neal did; his own wife had forced him to commit a crime.

Neal knew how much Peter loved El—a lot; enough that he'd go to prison for El and escape for her like he himself had done for Kate.

In fact, Neal had an uncomfortable suspicion that Peter loved Elizabeth ten times more than he had ever loved Kate. Their love was epic.

So then why was Elizabeth willing to threaten that? Did Neal's safety really mean that much? Was he really that much of a blight on the world?

Neal had not bothered to rise from his bed; he hadn't slept much at all—his thoughts had been too tumultuous. He hadn't even checked the time—the clock was still lying on the TV unit. Sunlight was coming in through the window, so it was a new day. His inner body clock was telling him that it was well into morning; people had probably gone off to work.

He had to reconsider whether El's threat was genuine; if Peter thought so then who was he to challenge that?

Peter knew El far better than he ever could, so if Peter didn't think she was bluffing, then chances were she wasn't. Neal didn't understand that though; what did anyone have to gain by following through on a threat like that?

Assuming he did escape and assuming El wasn't bluffing, that meant she'd actually go to the police or Missing Persons and allow herself to be arrested even though it would be too late; Neal would be gone.

What would turning oneself in do for the situation? Aggravate everyone involved but that was about it. It just didn't make sense and El was smart enough that her ideas usually made sense. Neal suspected that he was missing something; it was either that or she really was bluffing.

It didn't matter; Neal shook his head clear of these thoughts: what was done was done. El's threat had been put out there; Peter had believed her and Neal hadn't. It didn't matter what Neal thought; he couldn't do anything—that was the point. Peter was now as much a captor as El.

Neal wasn't even sure that Peter was wrong any more.

Neal was still lying on top of his slightly-mussed but still-made bed in a pair of slacks and shirt when the door opened again.

Peter walked in after cautiously checking the room.

When he spotted an unmoving Neal lying on the bed at the far wall he grimaced and walked over. Neal shifted presently, pulling his legs up, and Peter accepted the silent offer with relief and sat down on the end. If Neal didn't mind him sitting on the bed then that meant that Neal was in a receptive mood—though Peter didn't know why he would be.

"I couldn't get her to change her mind," Peter admitted, defeated.

Neal didn't react; that was no surprise to him; what he hadn't expected was how much Peter had tried, which was made obvious by the agent's next words.

"I even threatened to get rid of Satchmo."

Neal sat up and glanced at Peter, bringing his legs down to the floor and holding the chain that followed, moving it up and over Peter's head before dropping it onto the ground. "She called your bluff?"

Peter nodded.

Neal leaned forward, elbows on knees, and breathed deeply. "She was serious?"

Peter shrugged; ah, so he'd wondered if Neal was right, too.

"No." Neal stood. "You're probably right, and even if you aren't, you can't take the risk."

Peter looked up into Neal's eyes and Neal's stomach lurched; Peter's eyes were haunted. He nodded slightly.

"You didn't get much sleep, did you, Peter?"

Neal was concerned; it was one thing for Neal to not sleep but quite another for Peter. Peter was a log: he could sleep through anything, anything except the ringtone of his phone—Neal had checked.

"Coffee?"

Peter's eyes conveyed his surprise and Neal shrugged. "El's event-planning skills came in useful."

For the second time Peter scanned the room; this time he was able to dedicate some thought to it. "El decorated?"

Neal moved over to the kitchen counter where he kept the coffee machine. He unscrewed the filter and added the fresh ground coffee (the same the Burkes stocked up on) before retrieving two mugs from the cabinet.

Neal gestured lightly. "El brought catalogs with her when she first walked in, told me to circle whatever I wanted."

Peter noted the furniture that was already there; it was like an unfinished patchwork quilt but there were already quite a few pieces of furniture. "You didn't hold back."

Neal smiled. "I did, actually, but El threatened my general well-being and told me she'd decorate the place herself if I didn't. She made me go through the catalogs again."

Peter nodded, understanding; he knew just how forceful El could be.

A few minutes later, Neal brought over the two steaming mugs of coffee and handed Peter one before settling back down.

"I thought you'd be at work."

Peter sipped the coffee—it was steaming hot and strong. Neal was good with coffee.

"I took two days sick leave, said I was sick with a stomach bug or food poisoning."

They drank in silence until Neal drew up his courage. "What are you going to do?"


	12. Security

**A/N:** Aw, our poor guys are still in shock.

**Beta Credit:** Thanks to **Mam711** who did more for this chapter than usual (And she already does a lot)!

I do not own White Collar and all mistakes are my own.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 12: Security<strong>

Peter placed the empty mug on the floor near the foot of the bed and turned; Neal deserved Peter's full attention.

"I'm sorry, Neal; I know you don't deserve this." Peter rubbed his temple. "I need time. I need to get El to back down."

Neal nodded; he'd expected as much.

Neal was relieved—to a point—that Peter at least knew and would be able to visit.

Peter knew it wouldn't take much to damage Neal's mental health to be stuck in a place like this. He'd have to figure out something to keep Neal from descending into frustrated boredom. Not right now, though.

"Give me your ankle," Peter ordered, slipping, awkwardly, into his agent persona. Neal raised an eyebrow but didn't bother to protest.

He brought his foot up on the bed near Peter's knee, watching with curiosity.

Peter scanned the manacle and chain thoroughly. He had Neal put his foot down after a minute but continued to inspect the chain, going right to the end to the hole in the wall and inspecting that too.

"Where does the chain go?" Neal asked, the curiosity getting the better of him.

Peter glanced at Neal then looked back at the hole.

"Another room. The length of chain attached to you ends in a metal ring, and a chain attached to the wall hooks to the ring. El told me it was the only way she could think of to make it easy to take off in a hurry without letting you get at the lock."

Neal let his breath out. He wished for the first time that he hadn't shown off his lock-picking skills so many times.

"El said there was some 'double chain system'?" Neal muttered dubiously.

Peter nodded. "Yeah, I saw that."

Neal bit his lip. "She was a little vague with the details."

Peter thought for a minute. It was a hard thing to describe. "There are actually a couple of short chains with hooks attached to the wall. So new clothes go onto the unattached chain, then it gets hooked on while the other chain is still attached; then the second chain can be detached, and old clothes taken off of it. The end result is the clothes get put on without the—well, you ever being loose."

"I wonder who she hired to do that," Neal thought aloud.

Peter put his hands on his hips and looked down condescendingly. "She welded the chain onto your ankle herself, Neal—you don't think she can set up a bunch of chains?"

Neal blinked at the truth of Peter's words. "Hmm."

Peter returned to scanning the wall intently.

Neal just watched in silence until it dawned on him: Peter was checking its integrity.

"Peter!" Neal was indignant; he'd thought Peter didn't like this any more than he did, but now the agent was actively checking for flaws?

Peter had been expecting Neal's objection and, without turning around, he shrugged. "Sorry, Neal, but I can't risk you escaping—El's made it clear she doesn't care what the reason is for your absence; she'll still make her way to the Missing Persons Unit in the FBI building."

Neal felt dread, and Peter must have sensed Neal's loss of hope. "Neal, this won't be permanent."

It didn't come out as something positive though; it sounded unsure, and all Neal could hear was 'permanent'.

"Wow," Neal muttered.

"I just need time," Peter explained guiltily. "She isn't listening at the moment. Neal, you're safe. You were in prison for four years; another week in here won't kill you."

Then Peter spotted a fleck on the base of the chain. He bent to inspect it closely and Neal frowned. He kicked the chain, sending it into a whipping motion. "Quit with the chain, Peter. You can rest assured I can't get it off!"

Peter looked up, surprised as the chain flew out of his hands, and he stared at Neal who appeared satisfied.

"Yeah, okay, I figured as much, Neal, but I need to check; I know you'll be looking for ways to escape more now that your only two sources of rescue aren't available anymore."

Neal scowled. He wished Peter was right, but no, he actually agreed with the agent: if there was even the slightest chance that El wasn't bluffing then Neal was not going to risk escaping. Peter didn't need to know that, though.

They avoided talking for a few minutes while Peter finished analyzing the security of Neal's prison by checking the strength of the brick wall.

Finally, Peter dropped back onto the bed.

Neal bit his cheek, honestly not trusting himself to say anything. Fortunately Peter had something he needed to tell Neal. "I got a call last night."

Neal looked at Peter, curious.

Peter sighed, "It was one of El's friends from work; she was concerned about El. Apparently, Elizabeth has been distracted of late."

Neal nodded in comprehension.

Peter frowned. "Why didn't I...?"

Neal shook his head, and soothed Peter. "She would have tried harder with you."

Peter lowered his chin; he agreed but still felt guilty that he hadn't noticed his own wife's deteriorating happiness.

"You said yesterday El wasn't coping?"

Neal shifted uncomfortably. "No, she isn't—I mean I'm not completely sure, but she's not cut out to be callous, Peter. Imprisoning me gave her the biggest guilt trip of all time."

Peter frowned. "How do you know? Aside from when she told me the truth, she seemed fine with what she'd done to you."

"She's fine with doing what she has to—to keep me from my alleged criminal life," Neal agreed, "but you should see her when I move, Peter; she can't take her eyes off the chain. She goes all white."

Peter looked at Neal's manacle; he understood that; for El, every reminder would have felt like a slap of reality in the face.

Neal maintained his silence; he didn't want to talk about how El wasn't coping, but he also didn't want Peter to think he didn't care about El if he changed the subject, so he stayed quiet, content to let Peter think.

Peter gestured to the chain. "How far does it go?"

Neal scanned the room. "Everywhere—it stops a few yards shy of the door though."

Peter frowned; every time Neal opened his mouth he learned more about how devious El could be.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** Personally I'm excited that chapter 12 is finally posted because that brings us to chapter 13, which I've been having trouble with so with nothing in the way, I should be able to rectify the problem! I'll try not to take long.


	13. Fright

**A/N:** Thank you for your review anon (Chapter 12); it was very high praise! All reviewers: I don't know what I'd do without all of your reviews; your support for this story is phenomenal! Thank you! And look- Chapter 13 is a little longer at least...

**Beta Credit:** **Mam711** who constantly works in the shadows to make people like me happy! Thank you!

I do not own White Collar and all mistakes are my own!

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 13: Fright<strong>

"When you realized it was El ..." Peter started.

Neal recalled that moment when he'd realized it was El. His jaw clenched at the memory. He'd felt overwhelmed with disbelief and completely helpless. And relieved—that it was only El, and that she wasn't in trouble like he was.

Peter didn't seem to notice Neal's nerves. "… how scared were you?"

Neal opened his mouth but the words failed him; Peter had been far too blunt. It wasn't often Neal had felt scared in his life; he could count the events on one hand. He took a deep breath and swallowed.

Peter aped Neal and swallowed uncomfortably. "That scared?"

Neal lowered his head. "Yeah, I did not see that coming."

Neal and Peter sat side by side, absorbed in their own thoughts for a few minutes before Peter spoke again, "I sent Elizabeth to her sister's."

Neal frowned, thinking about El's need for support. "But Peter, she needs your help."

Peter shook his head. "Not at the moment; no, at the moment she just needs some space. We all do."

Neal bit his lip doubtfully but didn't question Peter any further.

"We fought last night, Neal," Peter admitted. "She thinks..."

"What?" Neal watched Peter for visual cues. "She thinks what?"

Peter shrugged.

Neal just watched him for a few minutes before letting his curiosity get the better of him. "Did you ask her why? Why all this?"

Peter nodded briefly. "Something to do with Satchmo."

Neal blinked. "Satchmo?"

Peter turned his head to look at Neal who looked confused. He didn't blame Neal; he'd been confused himself when his wife had started talking about their dog…

* * *

><p><em>They'd just been arguing about where the line lay when it came to kidnapping friends when Peter decided to change the subject.<em>

"_El," Peter rubbed his temples. "Where did all this even come from? Why—when did you start thinking like this?"_

_El stilled. For a few minutes she just thought. Peter recognized that she was remembering something. _

"_El?"_

_Elizabeth sighed and pulled out a chair before sitting down. "About five months ago," she finally replied. _

_Before Peter could ask her to elaborate, El glanced at Satchmo and continued._

"_Neal came by to deliver some samples from the Greatest Cake for a client's party."_

_Peter sat down on another chair and leaned forward, head resting on clasped hands, and waited._

"_Just as he was leaving, I asked him what he intended to do. After he finished. You know; the sentence." El's voice became strained. "He smiled and made some light joke."_

_Peter lifted his head. "That's why—?"_

"_No, I'm not finished," El interrupted._

_Peter bit down his words and gave a small reluctant nod._

"_While we were talking at the door," El explained. "Satchmo slipped past us. He went straight for a cat across the road."_

_Peter looked up, frowning. El nodded._

"_There was a truck coming."_

_The question formed on Peter's lips but he knew El would answer._

"_Neal only just managed to catch him, inches from the truck."_

_Peter looked at Satchmo who was now dozing._

"_When Neal brought him back …" El continued vaguely, "… I told Satchmo off."_

_El turned to look at Peter in the eye. "Neal stopped me; he assured me that it was fine. That it wasn't Satchmo's fault, that he didn't know any better."_

_El blinked and then stood. "That's when I started thanking him. He put on his Neal Caffrey grin and assured me that what he did was the only decent thing to do. Because he knew better than Satchmo, that it was only expected that he'd do what he did. It was his responsibility, being that he was the only one close enough to stop him." _

_Peter stood and shook his head slightly at his wife. "So you took that as permission from Neal to what…? Save him?"_

_El rolled her eyes. "No, Peter. That's just what made me think about how maybe Neal needs this. He won't slow down long enough to see, just like Satchmo and his tunnel vision with the truck. You guys had him on his toes for four years. He didn't stop. You told him day in, day out that he shouldn't and couldn't and he … he did, Peter. And you closed the case, smiled and moved on. That's like me patting Satchmo and then putting him on the front porch." _

_He steadied himself and did his best to look understanding without being patronizing. "El, Neal is a little smarter than Satchmo."_

_El waved off his words. "Forget how smart they are, the fact remains, Satchmo doesn't know any better, which is why we never let him out the front door. It's our responsibility. Because we know better. And Neal—he wants to go out there and do things he thinks are okay. We know better, Peter. We have a responsibility to Neal to protect him as much as with Satchmo."_

_Peter stared at his wife. It would be so easy to assume that El had simply been affected by stress and had thus crossed that line between the sane and ... the not sane. But he looked into her eyes. She knew what she was doing._

"_El, it's illegal."_

"_So was stealing that tape to protect Neal," El pointed out sharply, "and ignoring Neal's unique way of solving cases, letting him get away with those crimes, like stealing that Houstenburg … holding a gun to Fowler. You probably made him worse, Peter."_

_Peter gritted his jaw and stared at his hands, unable to deny Elizabeth's accusations._

_Elizabeth came around the corner of the table that had been between them and she spoke softly, "You and the FBI tried, honey. It didn't work, so now I'm going to try. Whether you understand or not."_

* * *

><p>"Well," Neal sighed, when Peter had told him the basics. "That's ludicrous."<p>

"Yeah, we talked all night. Look, Neal, I can see where she's coming from," Peter muttered, "but if she hasn't come to her senses in a week, then I'm not going to have a choice."

"What?" Neal gaped. "Peter, you wouldn't turn her in."

Peter looked at Neal. "Why not? Doesn't she deserve it?"

Neal scowled. "Oh, come on, Peter, of course not, that's like saying you deserve to be arrested."

"Why would I deserve to be arrested?"

Neal stared at Peter. "You're doing exactly what she did."

"No, I'm not," Peter denied.

"Peter," Neal spoke simply. "You just checked to make sure I couldn't escape. You're as guilty as she is."

Peter cocked his head, confused. "It's completely different."

"No," Neal asserted calmly. "She thought she was protecting me just like you're protecting her."

There was silence as Peter contemplated the truth of Neal's words.

"Okay," Peter finally conceded nervously. "So we both deserve to be locked up."

Neal rolled his eyes. "Have you not been listening to me? Neither of you deserve to be locked up."

When Peter didn't respond, Neal continued. "You were both motivated by supposedly good reasons; granted, I don't understand Elizabeth's reasons, but I know she's a good person and so are you. The road to hell…."

Peter shifted. "I don't get it, Neal; one second you try your hardest to be let go and now you're moralizing our actions?"

Neal lifted a hand in protest. "Hey, I never said I was happy about it; I still want out, I'm just saying it's never simple, okay? And your actions are far from moral! They're human."

Peter looked away. Neal was right; nothing was simple. But despite that thought, all he could think was that, try as he might, he couldn't follow Neal's reasoning.

Neal raked his hair. "Peter, do you have your phone?"

Peter looked at Neal suspiciously. "Why?"

Neal rolled his eyes. "Why else, Peter; I need to call Elizabeth."

Peter understood but he shook his head. "No, Neal."

Neal frowned. "You can dial it if you're worried about..."

Peter sighed. "It's not that, Neal, I meant no to calling Elizabeth."

Neal turned, gesturing silently, eyebrows crinkling together. "Why not? I need to tell Elizabeth that she's being ridiculous."

Peter nodded. "I appreciate that, but you can tell her when she gets back."

"Why?" Neal challenged. "Peter, now you're being ridiculous."

"No," Peter replied forcefully tiring of Neal's protests. "I don't want you interrupting El; she needs to stop thinking about you for a couple of days."

Neal scoffed angrily. "Peter, she's not going to stop wondering about what's going on here; you can't stop her thinking about it—you're being impossible."

"Shush, Neal!" Peter growled.

Neal glared in silence.

Peter inwardly felt shock constrict his chest; even when angry it seemed Neal followed Peter's orders … even when free—but Neal wasn't free, was he? Peter sighed, glancing involuntarily at Neal's ankle manacle, invisible beneath the slacks he wore, but the chain trailing from under the hem signified its presence and Peter settled his sight on that instead. He felt strange suddenly at the sight of the thick steel chain and couldn't work it out. But it was comforting—no; calming. Slowly he relaxed, and his breathing evened.

Neal moved his ankle and Peter looked back up at Neal. Neal was staring at him and Peter realized Neal's casual movement had been deliberate. Peter swallowed, wondering if he should say something.

"You like it, don't you?"

Peter almost missed the question; Neal had spoken softly, almost as if he didn't want to break Peter's order too much, but when Peter looked up expecting a questioning gaze and maybe even an apologetic grimace he only saw a guarded acceptance. The question had been more of a statement, Peter realized.

Peter turned away. "What are you talking about, Neal?"

Neal shifted next to Peter and spoke softly, "You like that sound, don't you, Peter?"

Peter shook his head. "What sound?"

Then he heard it; it was louder this time because Neal was making a point of it: the metallic drag of metal on wood as the chain was moved back then forth.

Peter turned back to Neal. "No, what are you—why would I like that?" Peter knew, though, that his possessive eyes and quick, almost-mechanical answer didn't fool Neal.

Neal smirked dangerously, a glint of annoyance in his eyes. "Well, I guess Elizabeth got you an early Christmas present."


	14. Safety

**A/N:** Thank you CreamLatte1 (anon) for reading and reviewing! Look what you guys did for me! One hundred reviews! It is so very amazing and awesome to have that kind of approval! So thank you to each and every last person who reviewed-even if you only reviewed once (without you it would be 99)! ^.^

So many people reviewed at least five times; here are just some of them (thanks guys):

**Ultracape, extremebandgeek, InnocentKitsune, Puellascribit5, Rufael39, Pechika, Evesgreenleaf, SerialChick **...

And finally special thanks to the faithful **govgal** who reviewed the most: an astonishing 12 times!

The rest of you *smiles adoringly* I love you lot, too! All your reviews were amazing! Even the negative/dubious/and skeptical reviewers said something nice!

14 is short, so 15 is around the corner. I promise.

**Beta Credit: **You all know her, I'm sure, but she must be acknowledged each and every time because she's worth every bit of praise she gets: Thanks **Mam711**!

I don't own White Collar and all mistakes are my own.**  
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><p><strong>Chapter 14: Safety<strong>

Peter wanted to tell Neal he was crazy, he wanted to tell Neal to shut up again, he wanted to say something, anything to prove Neal wrong, but he knew he couldn't because it was true. Peter liked having Neal where he knew he was safe, he liked having the forger in his control, he liked owning the worldly con artist, and he liked that with the help of his wife he'd stolen the world-renowned art thief.

Peter pursed his lips and spoke stiffly, "I'm going to get breakfast."

He hadn't been planning on buying it; Neal had plenty of ingredients here—according to El—for the makings of a hearty breakfast, but he needed to get out.

Without looking at Neal, he stepped over the chain and walked out the door and kept walking. Only when he was in his car did Peter stop and allow himself to admit the truth before thumping the wheel angrily.

Neal remained sitting where Peter had left him. He was kind of annoyed but not surprised; in the four years they'd worked together Peter had never shown any problems with asserting his dominance over Neal, he'd never had any qualms about using his authority to ensure Neal never went over the line and did anything Peter didn't approve of; for heaven's sake, he'd even asserted control over Neal's thoughts.

Neal bit back a smile as he remembered when he'd walked out of that bank with the large sum of cash—enough cash to turn his pupils into dollar signs—and Peter had been there waiting.

_"I hope you're not planning on walking with that."_

_Neal had shrugged with a lopsided smile, "No law against thinking about it."_

_Peter had watched as Jones had moved up, taking the briefcase full of cash from Neal, giving Neal a look as if to say, 'Actually, there is.'_

**11:12am**

Peter returned with breakfast a good hour later. Neal knew Peter had taken his time; the agent would have needed to calm down and restore his confidence. It wasn't something people wanted to know about themselves; that they were possessive, selfish and criminal.

Neal did Peter a favor and decided against bringing up the sore subject. Unfortunately Peter had never liked to leave elephants in the room where he could avoid it.

After they finished off the pancakes and toast, Peter took the take-out containers and threw them into the trash before returning to the bed next to Neal.

Peter took a deep breath and Neal suddenly knew what was coming.

Neal started to interrupt but Peter cut him off with a raised hand and a shake of the head.

"Neal, I do like having you in my control," Peter admitted tersely. "It's wrong, I know. What El did was wrong and what I'm doing is wrong."

Neal shook his head silently; he could protest but nothing Peter said could be denied: Peter was right.

Neal waited for Peter to continue but when it became apparent that Peter was distracted, thinking too heavily about how messed up this situation was, Neal prompted, "But...?"

Peter shook his head. "No but."

Neal cocked his head at Peter. "Come on, there has to be a but."

Peter shrugged. "Not this time, no buts this time."

"What kind of an admission is that?" Neal looked confused.

"An honest one," Peter answered with a slight smirk. "Only natural you haven't heard of those."

Neal gave a sardonic look and fell into silence.

"The furniture is coming in tomorrow?" Peter straightened.

"Yeah."

Peter nodded. "Good thing I got tomorrow off as well then; I can bring it in."

Neal merely nodded, gritting his jaw; why was it that each Burke had always been faced with bringing in the furniture alone? Granted, Peter was much more adept than El; he was strong and fit, but from past experience Neal knew two pairs of hands were always better than one and if he knew Peter—and he did—Peter was going to hurt his back from being overly confident or lifting something without bending his knees.

Peter noticed his stiffness. "You know, El said something about the furniture coming in being 'trouble'. She changed the subject so I didn't find out what she meant... What did she mean, Neal?"

Neal looked at Peter in the eyes. "I didn't want her to bring it in alone; I kept nagging her to call you and when she refused I offered to help."

Peter nodded in understanding. "And she regarded that offer to help as an escape attempt?"

Neal nodded. "Yeah. I mean, I can't blame her but I did tell her I'd go back if she'd just let me help her."

Peter looked surprised at Neal then narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "Would you have really gone back?"

Neal wriggled in Peter's intense scrutiny. "Only if she made me pr—"

Neal didn't seem to think it was a good idea to finish that sentence but Peter knew what the rest of it was.

"If you'd promised, you would have gone back?" Peter grinned. "You honor your promises?"

Neal nodded reluctantly.

"Okay, I know El is smart; she probably would have worked that out for herself, so why didn't she agree?"

Peter was genuinely curious.

Neal grimaced. "No, I don't think she believed me."

Peter sighed with sympathy; Neal, it seemed, felt a need to help his own captors and was willing to make promises to said captors but neither trusted him enough to take the risk. It was a bit of slap in the face. "Ouch."

Neal nodded.

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><p><strong>AN: **Don't worry, contrary to appearance, this story _is_ going somewhere .


	15. Symbolism

**A/N: **Thank you to leoniealastair (anon) for the review (chapter 14)!

**Beta Credit:** Thanks to **Mam711** for her patience and dedication (and also, for fixing a few chess-related errors)!

I don't own White Collar and all mistakes are my own!**  
><strong>

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><p><strong>Chapter 15: Symbolism<strong>

Peter cast around for something to say to quell the tension and spotted Neal's chess set sitting on the ground next to a few unpacked grocery bags.

"Hey." Peter gestured to the chess set. "Want to play a game?"

Neal scanned Peter. "I didn't think you knew how to play."

Peter shifted. "I played back in high school, but that was a while ago. I was thinking you could teach me?"

Neal considered, and then nodded; after all, his main opponent, Mozzie, couldn't come by and play anymore; Peter and El were his only available opponents and here Peter was offering.

Peter stood up before Neal could and retrieved the chess set. Neal moved one of the end tables away from the space he had reserved for the couch over to the bed where he and Peter could sit on the edge. Peter set the game down on the small table surface and sat back down then watched as Neal set up the pieces, talking as he went.

"These are the bishops; they can move diagonally as many squares as you like provided they have a clear path. The pawns …" Neal held up a piece. "… can only move forward one space except on the first move. On the first move you can move a pawn forward two squares."

Peter was remembering each piece as Neal explained each role briefly; memories of his informal high school class matches were coming back, not that the memories helped; he'd been too obsessed with calculating each move using math; it had driven his opponents to impatience until they'd snapped at him to take a turn long after the broken timers would have gone off. His passion for the game had been lost and after that he'd only played obligatory games and without caring if he won or lost.

Neal continued, holding up the two largest pieces. "The king and queen, he can only move one space in any direction while she can move any number in any direction providing their paths are clear. If any pieces from the opposing team have a clear path to take your king on their next move, your king is under threat: the opponent needs to call 'check' and you need to get your king out of the opposing piece's path. To do this, you can either move your king one square or move one of your other pieces into the path to protect the king. You will want to protect your queen as long as you can; she's your most powerful piece. If you lose her, the game will tip considerably into your opponent's favor."

Peter was nodding now, he remembered most of how the game was played but stayed silent, he didn't want Neal to stop; he was good at explaining the game.

Neal obliged, relieved that Peter seemed to understand thus far. "These are the knights; they move in an 'L' shape. Two spaces across, forward or back then one space from there, to the side—like this," Neal demonstrated with a white horse-shaped piece, moving it from an edge square forward two squares then to the side one more square.

Peter nodded, and then picked up what looked like a tower. "And this tower goes in a straight line, across, forward or back?"

Neal smirked. "Yes, the _rook_ moves in a straight line any number of squares, providing its path is clear."

Peter scowled at Neal's correction. "You don't have to keep saying 'providing its path is clear'; I get it; all the pieces can only go so far before they meet a wall."

Neal gave a sympathetic look. "Actually, the knights can jump over pieces."

Peter ignored Neal and turned the rook in his hand, admiring it. "I think I like this piece."

Neal made an 'hmm' sound.

Peter narrowed his eyes at him. "What?"

Neal glanced at Peter. "Oh? No, nothing."

"Neal," Peter ground out.

Neal sighed; Peter was no longer his legal custodian and he could still do that tone thing with his name.

"It's nothing, Peter, it's just …" Neal cast around for a way to explain. "… each piece on the board is a piece that can often represent a person. For example, Moz once called me a pawn; this was during my first year working for the FBI."

Peter stared at Neal; what was he getting at?

Neal continued, looking at Peter now that he had started the explanation. "Moz identifies with the bishop."

Peter nodded, although he didn't understand. "Go on."

"In that first year …" Neal sighed. "… I thought Kate was the king; unable to move far and unable to protect herself, while I—a pawn—tried desperately to protect her, but it turned out Kate was the queen; running around manipulating everything."

Neal raked his hair before continuing. "While I might have been a pawn once, now I'm more like the king while Elizabeth is the queen. The fact that you like the rook, I think, is interesting because it is probably the best representation of who you are; the upstanding and strong rook that moves around the board acting as protector and bodyguard in concert with the queen in order to protect the king who is bound by limited movement. The rook is the most straightforward of the pieces; it moves in one direction with one purpose; to mow down the opposition."

Peter had fallen quiet; he let Neal's interpretation simmer in his mind. It was interesting that their current situation with Neal's kidnapping could be represented by chess pieces. He changed his thought track, not wanting to delve too deeply in the symbolism of Neal's imprisonment. Instead he thought about the two pieces that Neal had said he most identified with. Neither the pawn nor the king was a desirable piece and he felt bad for Neal.

"Neal, which piece would you be if you could choose?"

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** Okay, so I stopped the chapter here, because I'm curious about which piece you guys think Neal is ... I know which _I_ think he is most like, but viewpoints are funny and fickle things, so ... share?

15 is short too, so 16 will be posted tomorrow.


	16. Chivalry

**A/N:** Okay, here's the other 'half' of the last chapter. When I read the two reviews I had received from Serialchick and Ultracape, (THANKS GUYS!) it occurred to me that everyone would think the same of Neal. And I don't post for the reviews (though I love them) and this one was ready to go, so why hold onto it? Enjoy. I'll post the next chapter tomorrow.

**Beta Credit:** Thanks to the wonderful **Mam711**!

I don't own White Collar and all mistakes are my own.**  
><strong>

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><p><strong>Chapter 16: Chivalry<strong>

Neal stayed still before picking up a knight. "If my movements weren't so damn limited, I could imagine I'd be a knight, unpredictable and tricky; able to pull off moves the other pieces can't."

Peter smirked. "Trust you to pick the most romantically-inclined piece."

Neal pouted, defending himself. "The knight has no romance in chess."

"None is more chivalrous than the knight," Peter insisted.

Neal shook his head hopelessly and decided to move on. "I'll take the white side, and you can be black."

Peter's eyes narrowed; after having had a conversation about the symbolism of chess, Peter had no doubt that Neal was shooting a barb at Peter. Neal had chosen to represent himself with virtuous white leaving Peter with the ill-reputed black. He didn't miss the hidden meaning at all.

Peter sighed and replied, "White moves first, right?"

Neal nodded and so he and Peter played chess, slowly at first then as Peter learned all the aspects of the game it picked up in tempo before slowing to an almost standstill as the pieces dwindled and the players became serious, neither wanting to lose to the other. Before long, Neal was wondering if Peter had been faking his ignorance of chess; he was playing like a pro. True, Peter was smart—genius smart—like Neal himself was, so it shouldn't surprise him that Peter could pick up the 'game of kings' with ease.

Peter was enjoying himself; unlike his former high school classmates, Neal had immense patience and allowed Peter to take all the time in the world while contemplating his next move. Halfway through though, Neal had suddenly piped up gently, "Peter, this is game of war; math has no place here, just go with your gut."

Peter had at first reverted back to his stubborn and disinterested player mode but because it was Neal, his friend, he decided to at least try playing the game solely on his spur of the moment judgment. Before long he began to enjoy the game and, like Neal, began to look ahead, but not with numbers; the game was one that demanded a strategic battle plan using the strengths and weaknesses of the pieces as well as spotting patterns in Neal's movement and forestalling attacks on his king.

Ironically the game ended with Peter and Neal calling a stalemate; each with two pieces left. Peter had a king and a rook, and Neal; a king and knight.

Neal brushed off the irony with a serious note, "We tend to protect the pieces we most value."

By the time Neal packed away the chess set it was after four in the afternoon. Both men considered the passage of time with surprise. They had been enjoying themselves so much that time had gone without notice.

Peter stood and stretched then gave Neal a tense sidelong glance. "I have to step out for a minute."

Neal nodded, not fooled. "Say hi to El for me."

Peter pursed his lips and lectured himself; don't con a con.

* * *

><p><strong>4:32pm<strong>

Peter came back in fifteen minutes later, slipping his phone in his breast pocket distractedly. Neal sensed Peter's worry and stood.

"Peter?" Neal moved forward when the agent didn't reply, still lost in thought. "Peter—Is Elizabeth all right?"

Peter looked up and blinked. "Yeah, yes I think so. I got her sister; apparently El ... El told her she had to go buy something and to tell me that she was coming home after that."

Neal frowned. "Peter, that sounds ... obscure. Are you sure she's okay?"

Peter nodded but began rubbing the back of his head. It was obvious that despite his assurances to Neal he didn't believe his own words.

Neal shook his head, vaguely annoyed. Why did the Burkes feel the need to protect him?

He turned away and stalked just for the sake of expending some of his pent-up energy but rather suddenly Neal decided he hated the sound of the chain on the floor and bent down, carefully wrenching the excess length of chain up before standing upright. Neal sighed. That was better.

He didn't know why he didn't do this before. Holding the metal chain in his left hand he was able to walk more easily.

Peter has been standing idly watching Neal with a vague calm.

He looked at Neal and gave a small smile. "It will be fine."

Neal wasn't sure if Peter was referring to Elizabeth or the entire kidnapping scandal. He didn't care really, he just nodded.

"You should go home …" Neal decided. "… and wait for Elizabeth."

Peter considered Neal's words and finally nodded.


	17. Companionship

**A/N:** Thank you Kate (anon) I noticed that Neal picked up that knight, after I wrote this, in a repeat viewing.

**Warning?** Some might consider this chapter ... fluffy? I wrote a few 'light' chapters. Eventually the issues will return. In the meantime, have a laugh!

**Beta Credit:** Thanks to **Mam711 **without whom, this fic would seem Australian.

I don't own White Collar and all mistakes are my own.

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><p><strong>Chapter 17: Companionship<strong>

**Day 5, 7:25am**

Neal could feel himself starting to wake up. He dug deeper into the pillow and twisted to his side. This was the wrong move.

His ankle was caught up and his other leg was twisted. Neal shifted his legs trying to unravel himself but something hard was in his way.

Groggily, he realized it was the chain. He missed the sleek, bump-free anklet.

Neal frowned into his pillow, relishing the feel of the thick-woven winter cotton on his cheek. He tried again to save his strangled leg and then froze as an alien sound broke the silence.

Neal listened intently, wondering if he'd imagined it. He moved his knee forward and there it was again! Neal concentrated, trying to identify the sound; it was a soft, squeaky mewling.

Neal blinked his eyes open and stayed stock still. Shortly, he dared to look around and saw Peter standing in the kitchen with El, talking softly. Neal briefly absorbed their stance and body language. El was standing, arms folded, and when she spoke she would clench her hands. Peter had his hands on his hips and he was shaking his head and pursing his lips when he wasn't talking. Both were standing a few yards apart. Clearly, things were not fine between the Burkes. Neither of them seemed to realize he was awake.

Neal moved up a bit and heard the sound again. He looked away from the kitchen area and down to the sheets all twisted around him. For the first time he noticed a warmth coming from next to his knee. Frowning, Neal slowly edged away from it and moved to pull the blanket up off the bed.

A pair of wide, round, reflective blue eyes with black slit pupils greeted his surprised blue eyes. He yelped and jumped up out of the bed. He ended up tripping as the chain caught his ankles. In a crumpled heap on the floor, Neal tugged the chain, breaking it loose from the corner of the bed, before looking up as Peter and El dashed over, concerned.

"Neal." Peter bent and seized Neal's arm before hauling him up. "Are you okay?"

El was nearing the bed, lifting the blankets in concern.

"There's something in there," Neal gasped once upright.

"Oh!" El paused worried and reached down to pick it up.

Neal gave a relieved breathless chuckle once he realized what it was El was picking up.

"A kitten!" Neal moved himself out of Peter's grasp. "I'm alright now, thanks."

Elizabeth seemed satisfied that the kitten was unharmed. It was wriggling in her arms and she looked at Neal. "Your kitten."

Neal drew back in surprise. "Excuse me?"

Peter muttered to Neal without looking at El, "Remember when I called El yesterday and got her sister instead?"

Neal nodded vaguely and straightened his white t-shirt all the while watching the kitten with wariness.

Peter nodded and thumbed in El's direction. "Guess what she went shopping for."

Neal glanced at Peter. "Uh-huh and why did Elizabeth buy a kitten?"

El had been quiet. She was uncomfortable after her last visit but she recognized her cue. She spoke indignantly as if the answer were obvious. "For company."

Neal paused, taking in Elizabeth's words. He gave her a once over. She was wearing blue jeans, a white v-neck top and light black jacket. She wore a guarded expression of intensity. Neal knew she was waiting to see his reaction. Nothing in her clothes, manner, or face suggested what he suspected ran beneath her facade; a desire to right some wrongs. Neal knew she was looking to make up for some of what she had done.

Neal raked his hair, bent down to untangle the chain in one smooth move, shoved the sheets back onto the bed and swept an amused expression at Peter and El before moving away towards the bathroom.

When he came out after relieving himself and fixing up his appearance he emerged to find Peter and El exactly where he'd left them. He paused, taking in their tense awkwardness.

He shrugged casually and rounded the corner into the kitchen before starting up the coffee machine. He needed his coffee before he could deal with any of Peter and El's wackiness.

Finally, with a steaming coffee in hand, he nodded politely at Peter and El, and moved back over to them, glancing at the kitten momentarily. He raised the mug in the kitten's direction. "Cute, but ah ... not really my cup of coffee. Pun intended."

"She's a Ragdoll. She's four months old, Neal. No name." El looked down at the mostly-white kitten which had settled down in her arms. Just then it gave a huge yawn, unfurling its tongue in the process, before closing its mouth over it several times and blinking. El smiled, pleased, and looked back up at Neal. No way could Neal resist that.

Neal however gave El a bemused smirk and moved away again, but this time in the direction of the entertainment unit. He ignored Peter and El's shuffles as they stepped over the snaking chain.

He placed the mug down on the top of the unit before picking up the clock.

"You guys are here early." Neal gestured with the clock before lining it up to the hook he'd already screwed into place on the wall. He stood back to check that the clock was straight, and when he was satisfied he picked up his mug again and turned back to the Burkes.

Peter was rubbing the back of his neck. Neal took a second to look Peter's clothes over; jeans and a white and blue striped polo shirt.

Neal narrowed his eyes; both Burkes were dressed casually.

Neal almost rolled his eyes once he remembered.

"Oh." Neal nodded in exasperation. "What time will they get here?"

Peter looked at his watch and then around the walls as if he was distracted. "We're not sure."

"We figured we should get here early." El added. "They did say 'morning'."

Neal smirked, having read between the lines. Neither Burke wanted to risk one of the delivery men poking around a house that housed an illegal secret.

"Right," Neal murmured beneath his breath. "Well, at least there are two of you now. Maybe you won't break your backs after all."

Neal took a sip of his coffee while both Burkes rolled their eyes.

"Neal and I played a game of chess yesterday," Peter stated, looking to kick-start a friendly conversation.

"Oh." El glanced at Neal. "Who won?"

It was clear, however, that Elizabeth suspected Neal had won. Peter caught El's guess.

"It was a stalemate!" Peter claimed, looking scandalized.

Neal raised his eyebrows in amusement. "Well, I was going kind of easy on you..."

Peter glared at Neal. "Don't!"

Neal raised his free hand in a gesture of surrender, all the while smirking.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** See Neal's kitten here**: Flickr .com/photos/10645202**(insert 'at' here)**N03/1138170281/** (remove the space after 'flickr' & 'at' in the 'a' symbol form)

Also, I only have two chapters that are almost written after this. Which means you guys will be receiving updates as I write them. It may mean the updates will slow down. I'll do my best to keep up.


	18. Absurdity

**A/N:** Longer chapter for the longer wait. Thanks for your patience guys!

**Beta Credit:** You can thank **Mam711** for not having to wait any longer for the chapter ... and for the clean up!

I do not own White collar and all mistakes are my own.**  
><strong>

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><p><strong>Chapter 18: Absurdity<strong>

Neal realized he had something important on his mind. He placed the mug down and walked over to stand in front of Elizabeth and waited until she looked at him, not quite sure what to expect.

"You think I'm Satchmo?"

Elizabeth couldn't maintain Neal's gaze.

Neal smiled, bemused.

"You must hate me," El murmured.

Neal lost the smile. He shook his head a little before sighing.

"No."

Confronted with such a serious answer to what might have been a fear disguised as a joke, an awkward silence fell.

"Why are you in such a good mood this morning?" El demanded as she moved away, but Neal knew she was just hiding her discomfort.

"I don't know." Neal shrugged. "It might have something to do with falling out of bed."

"Sorry about that." El gave the kitten a one-fingered pat. "She was tired."

Neal frowned down at the sleeping cat in the crook of Elizabeth's elbow. "I thought you guys were dog people."

"No." El spoke softly. "Peter's the dog person—he wouldn't entertain the idea of a cat."

Peter gaped at El. "I said 'no' to the dog too!"

Elizabeth gave a small smile and didn't deny Peter's words. She merely cooed at the kitten, then rather suddenly bundled it into Neal's arms.

It was a good thing he'd put the coffee down; Neal wasn't quite sure what to do. He found himself staring wide-eyed at a groggy mewling discontented kitten. He looked at El but she had already walked away and was currently staring down Neal from behind a guilty-looking Peter.

Neal grudgingly let his arm fold protectively inwards as the kitten snuggled into the crook of his arm. With his other hand he smoothed down the kitten's rumpled fur before catching himself and scowling at El.

"Get used to her," El suggested. "We intend to lock her in."

Neal glanced at the door; if only he could reach it. He missed that damn two-mile radius.

"Guys," Neal pleaded, "I don't have food for it—where is it meant to go to the toilet?"

Neal knew he was clutching at straws, and before El could point to the kitty-litter tray she had brought or tell him about the cat food in the bag by the door, Neal waved a dismissive hand.

"Forget that," Neal muttered. "Come on, it doesn't deserve to be locked up."

Elizabeth smiled. "Actually, locking it up is a great idea."

"El," Peter warned.

Elizabeth stepped away from Peter, ignoring his caution. "Cats are dangerous creatures, Neal. They get out there and all they do is hurt birds and stalk native wildlife. They do their nasty business in other people's backyards and steal food and generally skulk around like naughty cat burglars."

Neal glared, unimpressed. "I thought we were talking about the cat."

"So did I." El shrugged innocently. "Don't tell me you go into other people's backyards and…."

"No!" Neal frowned, horrified. He looked to Peter for help but one look at Peter's tense posture and he knew Peter wanted nothing to do with this.

There was a tangible silence in which Neal simmered and Peter and El shared reluctant glances for a few minutes before Neal moved to the bed and gently lowered the kitten down to snuggle into the soft duvet.

"Have you guys had breakfast?" Neal asked once he'd straightened; he tore his gaze off the kitten to look expectantly at the Burkes.

Peter shook his head. "What do you want?"

Neal considered. "There's this place in Newark: Buckley's—they do a wonderful..."

"I'm not going all the way to Newark," Peter replied scornfully, then narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

Neal grinned.

"Stop it," Peter ordered, annoyed.

El looked between Neal and Peter confused. "Peter?"

Peter sighed. "Neal's digging for information. I'll be back; I'm going to pick something up."

Peter left, shutting the door but not locking it behind him. Neal realized that meant there was no latch in the doorknob; there couldn't be or El would be as stuck as he was. Most likely they secured the door with a deadbolt or hasp.

El back-tracked over Neal and Peter's words and understanding flashed through her mind. She peered at Neal.

Neal shrugged. "Don't worry—it's not that helpful. I could know exactly where in New York this house is located and it wouldn't help."

El self-consciously checked her pockets, muttering to Neal, "Unless you steal a phone—then you can call Moz..."

Neal gave her an appreciative smirk. "Well, yeah, but I don't need more information for that; I mean don't you think Mozzie could easily find 'Uncle Tony's'?"

El froze, the truth of Neal's words hitting her. She edged away from Neal towards the door and pried it open with her fingernails before withdrawing her phone, dropping it to the ground outside and shutting the door again.

So, El wasn't stuck; it had to be an external lock with no latch. Neal filed that away in his mind for future use.

Neal walked back to the entertainment unit to pick up his coffee, which had gone lukewarm.

"You and Peter fought," Neal spoke carefully.

El scanned him warily. It hadn't been a question. It was a prompt. Neal wanted to know more.

"Peter let you get away with all sorts of things for years while you worked for him. He never saw what I saw," El murmured.

Neal frowned a little but maintained a casual air. "And what did you see?"

"We'll talk about that, Neal," El replied softly, "but not today."

Neal sighed but nodded. "I'm going in for a shower."

* * *

><p><strong>8:30am<strong>

El had been timing Neal. It had been thirty minutes since she'd heard the shower water stop running. Peter hadn't returned yet, so she was alone. She'd taken to sitting on the bed, staring at the kitten, and ignoring the movement of the chain which had snaked its way under the bathroom door.

Peter used to pick Neal up, sometimes, well before seven in the morning. Neal must have had to rise by six if he wanted to be ready for Peter's arrival and still spend this much time in the bathroom doing whatever it was that Neal Caffrey did to make himself look perfectly coiffed.

She had been looking around at the furniture when she spotted the marks. El moved off the bed and knelt, curiosity driving her to bend down until her head was below the height of the bed. The wood panels of the floor before her were scuffed. El felt her eyes narrow with suspicion. She fingered one of the scuffs. It was more like a gouge.

Possible causes flitted in and out of her mind until logic drove her to the only possible conclusion. El eyed the bed leg and trailed a contemplative finger along a few chain links.

So, Neal had tried. She had been wondering. It wasn't until now that she'd seen any evidence of his attempts.

Unbidden pride flooded her. She had bested Neal Caffrey, a genius criminal who had escaped Maximum Security.

Shortly the pride melted away. El looked up at the emergency button she'd had installed two months previously.

Neal could have escaped.

Sure, she had evidence against him, but it seemed unlikely that Neal wouldn't have found a way around that.

She couldn't be sure of anything where Neal Caffrey was concerned.

So far, preventing Neal's return to crime had gone—admittedly, with a minor hitch or two—according to plan.

Peter returned just as Neal stepped out of the bathroom.

"I went to a bakery," Peter explained as he set the three white paper bags down, "but it was really busy."

"Continental ..." Neal walked over to the table and scooped up a bag to peer inside. "… nice!"

Elizabeth noticed that of the three of them Neal seemed to be the most casual, the most relaxed. She and Peter could barely look at each other. They didn't want to fight in front of Neal—though she was sure Neal would laugh and claim their fight didn't count as such. Right now, she was also sure Neal was hiding his true feelings. She didn't understand why he would do that. Surely it would be better to rage or scream at her in an attempt to scare her or force guilt on her…?

Watching as he settled down with one of the three bags on the bed with his chained leg jiggling, El reminded herself that raging wasn't Neal's way.

Peter wasn't interested in eating. Fourteen years of marriage told El that he was worried—no, stressed. He had no clue how to fix this and Peter was the kind of person who liked to fix things. She wished she could make it better for him.

El had been staring vaguely at her hands. She was sure Neal was doing his own analysis of their behavior. Well, this wasn't about her, or Peter. It was about Neal, so she straightened and seized one of the bags. Peter reluctantly followed suit; at least eating would occupy the silence.

It was one of the most uncomfortable meals El had endured, including the first one she had shared with Neal after she'd kidnapped him. It seemed like they—well, she and Peter—were squashed in the large expansive room with every issue they'd chosen to ignore when they left their fight hanging, each having recognized that, right then at least, neither of them were going to see eye-to-eye.

El was grateful Neal was carefree and easygoing, even if it was just a façade, at that moment. She found herself smiling vaguely as she listened to Neal's low humming between bites.

When Neal set aside his bag he glanced between them, smiling the patented Neal Caffrey grin. Though he was chained, Peter and El collectively checked themselves—their pockets. Neal seemed to sense their wariness. But he ignored it. He looked at Peter and raised his eyebrows.

"Any interesting cases?"

"Uh," Peter stumbled, surprised by the sudden interest. "Well, we have a case."

Neal waited. When Peter didn't appear to want to be forthcoming, Neal motioned with his fingers for Peter to continue.

"It's nothing," Peter mumbled. "We'll have it solved soon."

Neal gave a sardonic roll of his eyes. "Peter, I'm bored. Give me something."

"Well …" Peter wrung his hands before capitulating. "… Okay, a millionaire passed away recently. He left half his fortune to an adopted son who ran away from home fourteen years ago …"

"And now," Neal guessed, "he's back to claim what's his?"

Peter nodded. "… but the rest of the family say they don't recognize him. They think he's a con man posing as the son that may since have died for all anyone knows."

"Oh." Neal contemplated the ramifications. "Identification?"

Peter gave a nod before moving forward a bit, gesturing as he went. "We asked for some and he provided us with the standard stuff that looks legit: driver's license and social security number, but there's suspicion that it could be fraudulent."

Neal closed his mouth and looked at Peter evenly. Both men knew Neal could easily check the paperwork and I.D. but neither man seemed to want to say it. El wondered why Neal was making it difficult. She knew Peter didn't want to say anything because, really, who could ask for the help of a kidnapped prisoner without guilt?

To ease the tension, El made a suggestion she knew would be shot down for a perfectly good reason. "Why not do a blood test?"

Because he's adopted, she prompted silently.

"Because he's adopted," Peter answered at the same time Neal said, "He was adopted."

"Oh," El responded simply.

Neal shrugged. "I could always take a look at his I.D.—and his papers … see if they were real. If that helps."

Peter tried to shrug off-handedly. He didn't really need Neal's expertise; the FBI had experts for that, but Peter did like the appeal of getting Neal's help even if just for the nostalgia. "Sure."

Neal smiled, pleased at the idea of a brief respite. And perhaps he liked the idea of helping Peter out more than he'd like to admit, even to himself.

Peter swung his arms like he did when he didn't know what to do with himself. El had seen him do it often when he was unsure if he should take the cue on a date or even something as simple as a walk.

"So," Peter muttered as he examined the clock on the wall. "I'll bring the stuff by … Monday?"

Neal looked pained. "Three days?"

Peter looked at Neal, wide-eyed and unsure of what to think.

"Can't you bring them by today …" Neal tried—and failed—to ask nonchalantly, "or tomorrow?"

Peter grimaced apologetically. "Can't, they think I'm sick, remember…?"

Neal sighed but accepted Peter's reasoning.

In the almost-empty room, El watched as the easy air that the conversation had stirred up dwindled more as the silence lengthened.

"Be good when the television arrives," Neal said brightly, though Peter and El knew Neal didn't watch much. Neal was seriously contemplating the lovely idea of Peter coming over, if only to watch sports; anything to break the monotony of the place without running the risk of those dastardly lessons El was threatening.

An image flashed through El's mind of Neal becoming addicted to daytime soap operas. She wasn't sure whether to laugh or call her sister and cancel the arrangement.

Neal suddenly straightened and cocked his head. At first El couldn't work it out, and then she realized she'd seen that look almost every day for thirteen years. That was the look Satchmo had when he could hear something.

Neal's eyes narrowed in concentration while Peter headed to the door, having understood Neal' reaction. He swung the door open and the three of them stilled, waiting.

Then finally, El heard it, louder now the door was open. It was the doorbell.

"They're here," Neal informed unnecessarily.

El and Peter moved as one out the door.

"Thank God," Peter could be heard muttering beneath his breath.

El looked back at Neal then followed Peter out, shutting the door as she went. It wouldn't do for Neal to be heard, even by accident.

* * *

><p>Neal listened to the various bangs and thuds that managed to permeate the half-finished safe-room for about a half hour before boredom settled. He pulled out his iPod and a fresh canvas along with his paints in answer to his wandering attention. No reason he shouldn't continue to practice his skills; after all, he was sure, despite all the things that were being brought in that only made his situation appear more and more permanent, he was really only going to be here a few more days—a week tops. He had to believe it.<p>

With the easel set up in front of the bed, Neal looked around to see if he had everything he needed. It was all there. He couldn't help feeling like he'd forgotten something.

He figured it was the unfamiliar environment he was about to paint in for the first time. The light was different, for one thing, and he'd have to search to find inspiration here in this empty, box-like room too.

He moved around between the easel and the bed and sat down.

There was a shrill meow of protest and for the second time that morning Neal found himself on the floor, having jumped in shock straight forward, stumbling into the easel, which went flying. On the floor Neal watched, helpless, as the paints, canvas and easel went clattering along the floor in all directions.

Neal grimaced then looked up to where he'd almost squashed the poor kitten. It was peeking out from the covers looking scandalized.

Neal just stared back until the kitten blinked at him.

He sighed and sat up before scooping the kitten down onto his lap. "I'm sorry."

There was the sound of the door opening and Neal looked up, instantly concerned, but it was Peter and El.

They came in looking around with wary curiosity until they saw Neal looking back at them somewhat guiltily.

They took in the mess and bit their lips in an identical fashion, so that Neal might have chuckled if the situation weren't serious.

"What happened?" Peter whispered.

"Uh." Neal rose to his feet. "I'm not used to having a kitten in my bed."

El frowned. "They heard you."

Neal raked his hair and took a deep breath. "I'm sorry?"

Peter and El glanced at each other.

"Should we pretend nothing happened?" El murmured.

Neal was pleased at the back of his mind that Peter and El seemed to at least be talking to each other. Peter gave a helpless look.

The kitten mewled softly in Neal's arm and he looked down at it. Then Neal stepped forward towards El and gestured with the kitten in her direction. "Blame it on her?"

It was a good idea. And true … sort of.

So Peter and El had left the room preparing to laugh about the kitten's mischievous activity in the dusty old—certainly unused—attic upstairs, to appease the curiosity of the perhaps mildly superstitious moving men who had all queried as to the cause of the clattering from upstairs, while Neal set about cleaning up.

Neal wondered when he'd crossed the line from being an innocent victim to aiding and abetting his own imprisonment. Was that even possible?


	19. Domesticity

**A/N:** This is a completely new thing. And it was incredibly hard to write ... I hope you guys like it. I probably won't do it again. It was done for the purposes of continuity and levity. The 'plot' will return in the next chapter.

**Beta Credit:** Thanks to **Mam711**! **  
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><p><strong>Chapter 19: Domesticity<strong>

Peter and El spent their weekend at 'Uncle Tony's' in an unspoken agreement to keep Neal company. Later they would remember only flashes, and then: only the key moments….

**Morning of Day 6**

Neal slept in again. The kitten made a mess. He berated the kitten. Peter and El came by. Neal cooked omelets for breakfast. Peter suggested a name for the kitten. Neal and El said no…

El got a call. El left. Peter and Neal played coded hangman. The kitten found Neal's hat. Neal washed his hat…

El returned with Satchmo. Satchmo licked the kitten. Neal, El and Peter sighed with relief. Turned out Satchmo didn't want to eat the kitten. The kitten fell asleep on Satchmo…

Neal and Peter arranged the room. Neal questioned Peter's taste. The television arrived. Peter tried to set it up. He failed. Neal tried to set it up. He failed. El pointed out the faulty power outlet. Peter and Neal looked at her. El backed away…

Neal made coffee. Peter taught El chess. Peter said 'tower'. Neal said 'rook'. Peter looked at Neal. Neal grinned. Peter pursed his lips. Neal put up his palms. El liked the queen. Neal stepped away to paint. Peter watched Neal. El said 'what?' El won the game…

Peter wanted the remote. Neal wanted the remote. El got the remote. Peter voted for basketball. Neal voted for 'Antiques Road show'. El voted for 'The Wedding Planner'. They watched 'The Wedding Planner'…

The kitten got up. Neal watched the kitten. The kitten found Neal's shoe. Neal jumped up. Neal moved the kitten. The kitten sat in the kitty litter. Neal stood vigil. The kitten stared back. Neal sighed. El left the room. Neal heard El laugh. Peter read his newspaper. Neal washed his shoe. El returned. Neal pointed at the door. Neal said 'not soundproof'. El decided she had work. El left…

Neal stole the paper. Peter stole it back. The crossword had been done. In pen. Neal looked contrite. Peter did a Sudoku. Neal finished the Kandinsky. Peter looked at Neal. Neal signed the painting. In his own name…

Peter made coffee. Neal remade coffee. Satchmo found Neal's pants. Neal stole Peter's phone. Neal called El. El returned. With ironing supplies. Neal kissed El. Peter rolled his eyes…

Satchmo found Neal's tie. Satchmo played tug-o-war. Satchmo won…

Neal found a catalog. With men's suits. Neal rated them. All below four. Out of ten. Peter looked at the catalog. Peter told Neal he shopped from there. Neal took off two points. For every suit. So none were over two…

Peter found a book of art. Peter asked Neal if he'd copied it all. Neal reminded Peter that silence was golden…

The kitten wanted to play. Neal gave it coins from El's purse. The kitten liked the shine. Peter accused Neal of corrupting the kitten. The kitten saw Neal's shoelaces. Neal frowned. The shoes went in the wardrobe…

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><p>"Oh," Neal muttered to the kitten who was sitting looking like a kicked puppy. "Don't give me that look. They're Italian."<p>

"Come on, Neal," Peter teased. "She just wants to play."

"I think it's sweet she likes the same things you do," El added.

Neal waved a dismissive hand. "I've shared enough of my clothes with these pests to last a lifetime."

"Oh!" Peter replied, feigning offense. "Satchmo, boy, he doesn't mean it."

Satchmo merely looked at his beloved human with a vague glance. He didn't look offended.

Neal gave him a pat anyway.

* * *

><p><strong>Afternoon of Day 6<strong>

They bought Mexican for lunch. El had a quinoa salad. Neal had a chipotle beef burrito. He used cutlery. Peter had a grilled chicken fajita. Peter ate on the couch. Neal told El he needed a new couch...

They had no straws. They used cutlery instead. Peter drew the spoon. He washed the dishes. Neal came into the bathroom. Neal said 'you missed a spot'. Peter splashed Neal. Neal flushed the toilet. The running water turned hot. Peter yelled 'ow'. Neal smirked. Peter told Satchmo to 'sic him'...

They played Pictionary. Satchmo was the fourth player. Peter drew first. Neal said 'nice dog'. Peter said 'it's a car!' El had her turn. She had 'criminal'. El drew an arrow pointing at Neal. Peter guessed it immediately. Neal rolled his eyes. Then Neal had a turn. He drew well. Too well. He won...

El pulled out a thousand piece puzzle. They each took a corner. Neal completed half in ninety minutes. El completed a quarter. And Peter used tape. Neal and El glared. Peter sighed. He removed the tape. Neal completed his corner and started on the fourth. El completed her corner and helped Neal. Peter almost completed his. He was missing five pieces. Peter looked at Neal. Neal smiled. Neal produced three pieces. Two pieces were still missing. They looked at the kitten. The kitten blinked. She coughed up a piece of cardboard...

They watched 'Antiques Road Show'. Neal beat the appraisers to the punch. Every time. But one was stupid. According to Neal. 'It's not the real thing', he ranted. Peter switched off the show. He told Neal it was for his own protection...

They played Monopoly. For hours. Peter would buy houses. El would 'manage' utilities. Neal would collect 'get out of jail free' cards. Neal constantly landed on 'community chest'. Peter constantly landed on 'pay tax'. El constantly landed on safe squares. Neal landed on free parking for a fifth time. Peter checked the dice. Peter looked at Neal. Peter said 'you're cheating'...

Neal set out kitten food. The kitten ate half. She sat. She looked up at Peter. Peter melted. Peter bent down to scoop her up. 'Don't,' El warned. 'Don't,' Neal warned. 'What?' Peter blinked. Peter brought her up to his eye level. Peter smiled. And the kitten coughed up her meal...

Neal showed El his recipe. They cooked soup. They ate the soup. They 'ooh'ed and 'hmm'ed. Neal regaled them with a 'story'. Peter rolled his eyes. The Louvre would get a call in the morning...

El showed Neal her recipe. Peter hovered. Peter saw a chocolate brownie cooling. Peter drew near. Neal smacked his hand away. El 'aww'ed. She gave Peter the spoon. Peter smiled and moved away...

They watched 'The Thomas Crown Affair'. Neal pointed to the television. 'The briefcase folded!' he said indignantly. Peter and El frowned. 'The art was framed!' Neal explained. Peter and El 'Oh'ed. Neal leaned back, satisfied. 'Besides, I would have had the painting out in half the time'...

It was late. Peter and El glanced at each other. Neither would leave. Neal would be alone otherwise. Neal looked at the clock. Neal stood up. Neal smiled. They smiled back. Neal kicked them out. Politely...

* * *

><p>He and the kitten looked at each other. Neal went to the wardrobe. He pulled out an old dark gray fedora. He set it down on the floor next to his bed. 'You can have this one.' He told her. 'Peter dented it already.'<p>

Neal fell into bed. He smiled as he watched the kitten. The kitten approached the hat warily. She curled up inside it. She purred.

"How about Sinatra?" Neal murmured, already half asleep. "He liked fedoras too. And you have the blue eyes for it..."

The kitten looked up at him and mewled. Her sapphire-blue eyes glinted in the half light of the dark room before her lids closed down over them.

Smiling, Neal let his hand trail down over the side of the bed to where he could feel her fluffy fur as she curled up, content, in his old Peter-dinged, Sinatra-inspired hat.

* * *

><p><strong>Morning of Day 7<strong>

Peter and El arrived. Neal was already up. He was trying to teach Sinatra some tricks. Her eyes kept wandering. She bounced off to the left. Neal picked up her up. He put her back. He waggled a finger. 'No—stay!' Neal said. 'Give her a tracker,' Peter suggested as he smirked. Neal glared. Peter shrugged. 'Works wonders'...

El had brought more games. Tic Tac Toe. Scrabble. Battleship. Backgammon. Boggle. Guess Who. Cluedo. And Twister. Neal shook his head. He pointed at Twister. 'No.'...

Neal taught El how to pickpocket. An hour later, Peter glared at Neal. 'Where is it?' Neal blinked. El laughed. El produced his wallet. Peter looked at Neal. 'What have you done?'...

El taught Neal the ultimate deflection. Neal stole Peter's wallet. Peter rose to the bait. Neal tried his new trick. 'Peter, did you hear about the Giants' coach getting sacked?' Peter stared for a second. Peter left the room. Muttering. Without his wallet...

Neal and El played Boggle. Neal was smug. He was good with words. El played quietly. El won. Neal stared. El shrugged. 'I was a spelling bee queen'...

Peter came storming back. Neal pointed to the bench. The wallet sat there. 'Look what we found'. Peter glared at Neal. Neal grinned...

El took Sinatra out. Neal and Peter played backgammon. Neal was good at this game. Peter asked Neal about the latest MoMA exhibit. Neal talked excitedly. He was distracted. Peter won. Neal looked at Peter suspiciously. Peter looked back. He shrugged. 'Know thine enemy'...

El returned. She had ice cream. Peter chose double scoops of coffee flavor. Neal favored pecan. Elizabeth settled with a plain vanilla tub. Neal eyed her choice. He turned away. He smiled mildly. Vastly underestimated, he thought. Mouth full, Peter mumbled, 'Is there more?'...

El brought up a vacuum from downstairs. Neal washed the cutlery. Peter looked between them. He picked up a duster. Sinatra saved him. She liked the duster. He happily dangled it for her. Neal looked at Sinatra. His eyes widened in horror. Neal looked at Peter. Peter looked away guiltily. Neal stood, hands on hips. 'Peter, why is Sinatra covered in dust?'...

The kitten mewled in protest. 'Ow'. Neal snatched his hand back. He caught her as she leaped. 'No, Sinatra!' Neal returned her to the sink. Sinatra latched onto his finger. Neal cringed. But ignored her. He wiped the sponge over her again. She screeched. Neal murmured in sympathy. 'Blame Uncle Peter'...

Peter went out for lunch. Neal read a novel. Elizabeth went over her planner. Peter came back. Neal sat up straight. Neal sniffed the air. 'No!' Neal protested. Peter stopped in surprise. Neal stood. Neal pointed to the bag. 'No,' he said firmly. 'What?' Peter asked. Neal shook his head. 'Take that away!' Peter opened his mouth. Neal put up a palm. Neal pointed to the door. 'Out'. Peter smiled. He looked to Neal's ankle pointedly. 'I can always get a broom,' Neal warned. 'We are not having deviled ham for lunch!'...

* * *

><p>"I'm not going back out to get something else," Peter announced,<p>

El wrinkled her nose as she came to a stop beside Neal. "Oh, honey, I'm with Neal on this one."

Peter shrugged. "All the more for me."

But Peter didn't leave despite Neal's threats. He just dragged a chair up to the wall out of Neal's reach and sat, before digging enthusiastically into the meal. Neal watched with a horrified fascination as Peter ate the vile stuff. Then he and El headed to the kitchen and set about making their own sandwiches from supplies out of Neal's fridge.

Halfway through, Peter set the plate down and headed to the bathroom. With their backs turned it was too late when Neal noticed Sinatra creeping towards Peter's temporarily-unguarded plate. Neal had to save Sinatra! She had no idea what she was in for! He dropped the butter knife with a clatter and slipped around the island counter before leaping forward. The chain stopped short and Neal came down, hard.

Dazed, Neal slowly propped himself up on his elbows and looked up. Sinatra was digging into the deviled ham with relish as she sat about half a yard beyond Neal's grasp.

Peter forgave the kitten easily. Neal suspected he was just happy he wasn't alone in his taste for the ham. Neal sighed as Sinatra licked her lips happily.

As the kitten remained out of his grasp, Neal resumed, distracted, with making his lunch.

"I'll shop tomorrow," El promised Neal as she observed the emptied shelves. "Fill this fridge back up."

Neal nodded before heading back to the couch with his own sandwich, a chicken salad. He ignored Sinatra's curious mewls as she wound her way through his ankles before sitting in front of him with a longing stare.

At some point, after lunch was eaten and the plates cleaned. El came out of the bathroom with some moisturizing cream. "For your ankle," she stated simply.

* * *

><p><strong>Afternoon of Day 7<strong>

Peter wrested control of the remote. They watched basketball. El complimented the players. Neal talked about the stitching of the uniforms. Where the whistle originated. Why some guys could throw better than others. About the influence of sport on art. How easy it was to forge a baseball signed by Babe Ruth...

Peter said 'basketball, not baseball'. Neal frowned. Neal shrugged. Peter shushed Neal. Neal obeyed. For a minute. Neal talked about Norman Rockwell's 'The Dugout'. Then about Mickey Ma—Peter shut off the television. Neal looked confused. Peter huffed. 'I'll watch it on cable'. El smiled. Neal looked between them. 'Was it something I said?'...

Peter fetched Satchmo. Peter took him for a run. Peter came back sweaty. Neal put up a palm. Neal ran into the bathroom. Neal came back. He laid the towel on the couch. Peter peered at Neal. Neal waited. Peter opened his mouth. Neal stilled. Then Peter smiled. Neal smiled back. El was still reading a magazine. Supposedly. Neal offered Peter a beer. Peter sat. Neal sat beside him. They watched Sinatra. Sinatra was in a fight to the death. With Satchmo's tail...

Dinner was traditional. El insisted on veggies. Neal arranged the veggies into a picture. Peter stabbed the veggies. El used chopsticks. El washed. Neal dried. Peter put the dishes away. In the wrong places. But Neal let it go...

El had an event. El left. Peter glanced at Neal. Neal glanced at the time. It was evening. Peter sighed. He needed to go home. Neal understood. Peter said, 'we will talk'...

* * *

><p>After Peter and Satchmo had left for the night, Neal settled down on the bed. As he scooped Sinatra up and watched her play with the bedspread, he understood why El had bought her.<p>

Later he settled at the easel, mindful of Sinatra's whereabouts, and drew vague impressions of the room. Sometimes empty, sometimes with furniture, sometimes with people. But mostly he shaded. Grays, blacks, and whites. He wasn't sure what was going on.

If he was still here next week, Neal guessed the furniture would be stronger in appearance; the outlines clearer, the little details would crop up and the black would fade into the background of the familiar. Neal sighed. He didn't want to be familiar with this room.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** So ... like it? Hate it? Not sure what to make of it?

**Credit: **Thank you **Mam711** for the kitten's perfect name! I love it.


	20. Exasperation

**A/N:** Warning: Spoilers for Pilot (S1E1), Forging Bonds (S2E11) and Countdown (S3E10).

**Beta Credit:** Another fantastic clean-up by **Mam711**!

I do not own White Collar and all mistakes are my own.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 20: Exasperation<strong>

**Day 8, 6:54am**

Monday.

Monday, Monday, Monday.

It had been a week since Neal had woken up to find himself chained and caged by one of the people he trusted most.

It was going to be a long day. Mostly because he hadn't been able to sleep well and he'd finally given up at five a.m. It was almost seven now and Neal didn't expect much to happen as both Burkes had to work. He knew Peter would come by after work, because he was going to bring the identification paperwork he'd promised to let Neal look over. But 'after work' could be as late as ten or eleven that night.

So when he heard the slide of a bolt on the other side of the door as he made his way over to the chair with his newly-made coffee, he paused in place, wondering if something had happened.

Satchmo pushed through the door first, widening the opening with his broad body. The leash trailed behind him, an instant toy for Sinatra. As Satchmo sniffed at her in greeting, Sinatra lowered into a pounce-ready position before jumping clumsily in the direction of the trailing handle of the leash. She tripped as she went, landing paws and chin first on the harsh leather strap, but she didn't seem to mind. She rolled and jumped up, snaking out a paw in a swipe.

Neal took his eyes off her and looked back towards the door which had been closed behind Elizabeth.

She smiled at him. "Good morning, Neal."

He placed the coffee down on the table and returned her smile with a grin. "Morning! Stopping by on your way to work? Or did you want me to babysit Satchmo?"

Elizabeth shrugged out of her coat and laid it over the back of the couch. "No. It's been a week, Neal. Long enough. I thought we could start ... you know. Talk about things."

Neal frowned. "What about your business?"

Elizabeth walked over to the kitchen and poured herself some coffee after pulling out a mug. "Yvonne is handling it. I've told her I'm taking more hours off in the working week. Giving her more room to be creative. She loves it."

"So," Neal clarified. "You're going to be coming by each day? To talk?"

Elizabeth nodded as she watched the steam rise out of her mug.

"Without Peter?" Neal checked.

Elizabeth turned, lifting the mug after turning off the machine. "It was never meant to involve Peter. Just you and me."

Neal lowered himself onto the edge of the chair, leaning forward on his elbows. "Elizabeth ... don't take this the wrong way, but what does my life have to do with you? I mean, why... Let me put it this way: I was Peter's problem for seven years out of eleven, I can understand if he'd try to give me lessons, but none of that had anything to do with you. Why would you take it upon yourself to do this?"

Elizabeth came over with her mug and sat down next to him on the couch. She took a sip. She seemed to be considering her words carefully. "Two reasons. I care about you, Neal. And someone had to but Peter and the Bureau have already tried."

"No—n..." Neal paused. "No, Elizabeth, no one had to. Look, everyone makes their own way—"

"Neal." Elizabeth cut through. "I realize this is unconventional, and I knew you wouldn't agree, but..."

Neal raked his hair and nodded. "That's what the chain is for?"

El smiled with a gesture to say he had it in one.

"Well." Neal sat back. "All right, let's get started then."

Elizabeth nodded in agreement and put the mug down, before sliding back.

Neal waited. After a minute, he swallowed. "El?"

Elizabeth glanced at him. At Neal's raised eyebrows she nodded guiltily. "Yeah, yes. Okay, let's start at the beginning."

"Which one?" Neal asked. "Four years ago when Peter accepted my offer? Or when Peter first arrested me?"

Elizabeth regarded him for a second. "How about when you gave Peter that sucker."

Neal inhaled. "You know about that?"

Elizabeth gave him a look. And Neal nodded.

"Of course you know about that." He rolled his eyes. "Okay, what about it?"

"There are a couple of things about that sucker that, well, it says a lot about you, Neal."

"That was kind of the point," Neal replied as he scooped Sinatra onto his lap.

"Okay," Elizabeth said slowly as she shifted. "Neal, I don't know if it meant to Peter what you wanted it to mean."

Neal felt the first signs of tension settle in his forehead. "What do you mean?"

"Well," Elizabeth took a deep breath. "We talked it through..."

* * *

><p><em>Approximately eleven years ago...<em>

_The woman tilted her head, looked up while letting her mouth twist, wondering. "... I suppose, I just decided one day, that I wanted to be the one who got to decide if something was good or not—because, everyone else usually ruins it for me ... you know?"_

_"Uh." Elizabeth looked down at her notes, not quite sure what to make of the bubblegum-chewing woman who sat across from her with an eager wide-eyed expression. "Well, thanks for telling me why you want to work for me. I will give you a call!"_

_Elizabeth stood up and extended a hand. "Thank you so much for your time. It was lovely to meet you."_

_The woman nodded, giving a self-satisfied smile. Elizabeth escorted her to the door before closing it behind her and leaning against it, weary from the ten or so interviews she'd given thus far that day._

_Elizabeth looked down at the list that was attached to the clipboard in her left hand. She sighed. Only five more to go..._

* * *

><p><em>Elizabeth found herself sitting, listening to a mother of eight who sat before her telling her that nothing fazed her. But, of course, she might have family emergencies. And soccer games to see. And recitals to attend. And….<em>

_"I completely understand, but this job kind of requires someone able to work full time. I'm not sure it's right for you," Elizabeth said honestly, feeling guilty._

_The mother nodded reluctantly. "Oh well. Thanks anyway."_

_"But, you know, I have a friend who is looking for an assistant secretary to cover a couple of shifts a week. I could refer you?" Elizabeth told her quickly._

_The mother smiled. "That would be wonderful!"_

_Elizabeth smiled. But she still needed someone…._

* * *

><p><em>"You're not religious are you?" Another woman asked her almost as soon as she sat down.<em>

_"Why?"_

_"If you're religious, I can't work for you."_

_"Oh?" Elizabeth paused a second. "I'm sorry ... I'm definitely religious."_

* * *

><p><em>"So, why do you want to work for me?" Elizabeth asked for the umpteenth time that day.<em>

_"I just need a job. Hey, do you have anything against ... like ..." the young girl leaned forward, dropping her voice. "... coke?"_

_"...Coke?" Elizabeth repeated. "Um, no. Any beverages in the workplace are fine. Uh—no alcohol, though."_

_"Yeah … no." The girl shrugged, smiling wryly. "You know ... coke. The kind you … you know?"_

_Elizabeth blinked. "Oh." Then she leaned back and pulled out her phone, putting up a finger to indicate she needed a moment. "I'm sorry—it's on vibrate ... it's my husband ... would you mind waiting for a sec?"_

_Five minutes later, the police arrived._

_El sighed as she informed her husband that the drug addict was gone._

* * *

><p><em>"Hi."<em>

_"Hi," El answered. "So ... Yvonne?"_

_"Mrs. Burke." The woman smiled._

_"Elizabeth is fine. So tell me, why do you want to work for me?"_

_"Planning events? What could be better? It's invigorating, challenging, creative ... fun!" Yvonne mused. "And you seem like the kind of person who shares that passion."_

_Elizabeth smiled for the first time in hours._

* * *

><p><em>"I finally found my other half." Elizabeth told Peter just before she fed the fork into her mouth. "I don't how I've lived without her. She had the flower company wrapped around her finger in twenty minutes."<em>

_"Other half?" Peter furrowed his brows._

_"Oh, honey." Elizabeth smiled. "My work half. You'll find one someday too. Someone you'll just click with, and work with innately, understanding one another without ever having to say a word; someone who'll match you for inspiration, vibrancy, and passion!"_

_Peter kept his dubious thoughts to himself._

_After a few more bites, El gestured with her empty fork and swallowed. "So, what about you? How's your day going?"_

_Peter was going to shrug, and tell her the investigation was slow, but fine. But then he paused._

_"Honey?" Elizabeth murmured a minute later._

_Peter blinked. "This guy ... approached me today. I can't put my finger on it, but something about him bugged me."_

_El frowned, confused. "A guy approached you?"_

_Peter nodded. "He was young, seemed pleasant ... polite. He gave me a green lollipop."_

_Elizabeth frowned. "Honey, perhaps you should start from the beginning?"_

_"Right," Peter muttered, then straightened. "Okay, so I was talking to this bank manager—her bank was the most likely for James Bonds to hit next; it's in his area. Anyway, I was telling her about the bonds and how the guy operates. When I was done, the manager went inside and I was just waiting for another agent to show up when this guy comes up ... said he'd heard me talk about forged bonds. Wanted to know if his were safe."_

_Elizabeth cocked her head, bemused. "Then he gave you a lollipop? Maybe he just liked you."_

_Peter spared a moment to answer her tease with a sardonic smile. Then he sighed. "There was something about him, El."_

_"What do you mean?" El asked before popping a torn piece of garlic bread in her mouth._

_Peter couldn't quite put his finger on it though._

_Once El had swallowed, she prompted, trying to help Peter out. "He seemed what ... intelligent? Cute?"_

_"No," Peter answered vaguely. "No ... he seemed ... amused."_

_"Amused?" El confirmed, bewildered. "By an FBI agent...? That's odd."_

_But Peter had a strange look on his face. Suddenly he stood up and grabbed his coat. "El—honey, I'm sorry. I've got to go."_

_El watched, wide-eyed, as her husband gave her a quick peck on the forehead and apologized again before dashing away to the street he'd parked his car on. "Okay, I'll see you tonight, honey! I love you."_

_"You too, honey," was the distracted reply._

* * *

><p><em>"It was him," Peter told her, face buried in his hands at the dinner table.<em>

_"The guy with the lollipop...?" El sat down at the table and took her husband's hands in her own, concerned._

_Peter looked up at her. He nodded. "... was James Bonds."_

_"How can you be sure?"_

_"Another forgery turned up at the same time we were there," Peter explained numbly. "The teller that accepted it says she gave him a green lollipop. Said she didn't normally do that unless the customer has a child ... but apparently he was cute and charming ... she made an exception. And her description of him matched mine."_

_"Wow." El's nose crinkled. "And he actually came up to you? That's gutsy."_

_"That's cocky," Peter muttered angrily._

_"Honey," Elizabeth murmured. "What's wrong? Did you get in trouble?"_

_"No," Peter sighed in reply. "No, Hughes was happy; this is a great step forward. I know what he looks like now."_

_"So," El nudged him gently and murmured. "What's the matter then?"_

_Peter stayed quiet for a while, but Elizabeth just waited patiently._

_Finally, Peter shifted, taking his hands out of his wife's grasp and giving her a small arm rub. "His behavior ... I've been warned that … he regards me as, um, a game. They called him a sociopath. Coming up to me like that—he has no fear. It means he might focus on manipulating me and those around me to get what he wants. And he wants attention. El, there's a chance it might escalate. He might go after those I care about to get my attention."_

_"What—honey?" El shook her head and leaned forward, frowning._

_"Sociopaths can be dangerous," Peter despaired. "He might hurt you to get to me."_

* * *

><p>Neal gulped, stricken. He mouthed his shock a few times before shaking his head. "They really thought I'd come after you?"<p>

Elizabeth nodded mildly. "Yeah. Peter and the Bureau wanted me to go to my sister's. I did for a week. I almost lost my business before it even began."

El fell silent for a moment, wanting those words to sink in. When Neal could do nothing but stare at his hands, guiltily, she continued.

"But I came back. Peter tried to get me to leave again. But I refused to go. Told him it might be months before he caught you and I wasn't going to let some criminal stop me from being with him. He stressed for months before it became apparent that we didn't have anything to worry about."

"El," Neal spoke softly. "I never meant for … that wasn't my intent."

"Yeah," Elizabeth agreed. "I know that. But Neal, that's how things go. You don't ever intend the bad things; they're the unforeseen consequences that no one ever intends to come about. Even something as harmless as giving a lollipop to Peter crossed the boundaries. Crossing those boundaries meant that no one could be sure that you wouldn't do it again. You made something impersonal personal. Of course it was going to be taken negatively."

Neal gritted his teeth.

He hadn't really ever thought much about that day. He'd just been a bit cheeky and said 'hi' in a way. It should never have been thought about twice.

"I'm sorry, El," Neal murmured. "But, why would they assume so much from just a little—"

"Neal," Elizabeth interrupted softly. "That's what guys with no qualms about breaking the law and conning people do; they find ways to get to people, to get what they want."

"But not like that," Neal countered.

"Not with you, no." El took a sip of her now-cold coffee. "But guys like Keller?"

Neal glowered at the mention of Keller's name. It had been over a year but it still burned him that Keller had done that, taken Elizabeth like that. He sighed.

"You have a point," Neal muttered reluctantly. Then a memory flashed in his mind. "Is that why Peter was so upset when I came to your house to show Peter Hagen's signature?"

Elizabeth arched an eyebrow for second while tilting her head. Her meaning was clear; Neal was spot on.

Neal recalled Peter's despairing words from that day. He'd been truly upset that Neal was patting his dog, of all things. Well, at first he'd been angry, frustrated and confused, but Neal's easy-going grin and reassurance coupled with Elizabeth's soothing words that they were only talking had seen Peter's mood shift to exasperation.

"Yeah," El murmured. "You kind of crossed the line there, too. But we'll talk about that day another time." Elizabeth stood and rubbed Neal's shoulder. "I'm going to go to work now. I'll see you this afternoon. Do you need me to pick up anything?"

Neal blinked. "Wait, that's it?"

"For now," Elizabeth replied, nodding as she headed to the kitchen to rinse the mug out.

"Oh." Neal put Sinatra aside on the cushion and stood. He turned on the spot and watched as El headed to the door, picking up her bag and coat as she went. "No," Neal finally answered. "No, I just need some new pants. I'm going to shower in a minute."

Elizabeth smiled. "You did well, Neal." Then El gestured to the hidden panel. "Casual or dressy?"

"My black jeans," Neal answered, distracted. "If you can find them."

Elizabeth was over by the door now. She looked at Neal for a minute, wondering if he was as dejected as he looked. He didn't look like he was faking his distress at what he'd learned. Just before closing the door, she paused, realizing the dog was still lying on the floor in Neal's room. "Do you mind if Satchmo stays here for a bit?"

"What if he needs to go out?" Neal asked, crinkling his nose as he looked down at the dog. Satchmo was looking entirely too innocent. But Neal was no fool; he knew all about looking innocent.

"He'll be fine." Elizabeth waved dismissively as she swung her bag onto her shoulder. "I walked him before I came here."

"The room will stink up," Neal moaned. "If he's not 'fine'."

Elizabeth smiled. "I won't leave him here again if he makes a mess, Neal. But I'm sure he'll be a good boy. Won't you, Satchmo? You'll be a good boy for Neal, won't you?"

But Satchmo wasn't paying attention. He was lounging on his side, gazing up at Sinatra who was clawing the couch and chewing a loose thread.

"Hmm." Elizabeth shrugged. "He'll be fine. I'll put out your pants for you on my way out. Take care, Neal."

She shut the door before Neal could argue any further. Neal rolled his eyes. He was also an old hand at getting what he wanted, so he knew all about that too.

After Elizabeth had passed him his pants through the panel and departed (hastily, because Neal was not above complaining through the small window in the wall), Neal sank back into the couch and reflected on that day around eleven years ago when all he'd thought he'd done was call Peter a 'sucker' by way of a harmless gesture.

_Oh, god…._


	21. Doubt

**A/N:** Been awhile since I updated. Thanks for the amazing patience!

Minor **spoiler** for 'Out of the Box' (S1E14)

This chapter involves thoughts regarding the last chapter, so read that first if you're rusty (like me) on what happened.

**Beta credit:** She's eternally patient like you guys; thank you **Mam711**!

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 21: Doubt<strong>

**2pm**

Neal realized he was in trouble. Elizabeth had come by and pulled the rug out from beneath him on the very first 'lesson'. He had to assume the rest of what she intended to share with him would have just as much merit.

If she was making him doubt himself this early, he wouldn't have a hope in withstanding her attempt to 'reform' him. And normally, that wouldn't be so bad—Neal could live with the idea of being like Peter—but Neal knew that no matter what, his desires to continue conning and thieving would never go away. So if he allowed Elizabeth's morals to take the place of his own, he would have no respite from the guilt. He would constantly question his actions and no one liked that kind of uncertainty in life.

He stood and paced, wanting to throw something to vent the sheer frustration he felt. He took a shaky breath and cursed. He cursed all the people out there who couldn't accept who he was and just let him be, starting with the Burkes.

They claimed they cared about him. Neal couldn't understand that part. He knew the Burkes did care about him but wouldn't a person who cared about you let you be who you were and not try to change you?

No, Elizabeth had done this because she thought he was wrong.

Neal paused, realizing that this train of thought did him no favors. The idea that he was wrong was not new. For instance, the law thought he was wrong. He'd gone to prison for it. But he'd never really thought about it. Neal guessed it had something to do with the fact that Elizabeth wasn't some faceless piece of paper written by a bunch of stiff and boring suits. She was a woman that Neal knew had a heart of gold. If she thought he was wrong….

Then she was probably right.

To cut right down to the heart of the matter: the world could be divided into two categories. Right and wrong. Neal hated looking at things in black and white ways like that, but to understand Elizabeth's actions—and he did want to understand because he respected her at least that much—he had no choice but to keep it simple.

If he was wrong and Elizabeth and law were right then that put him in the same camp as all those other people who were wrong: the ones that went out there and disturbed innocent people's lives because of some selfish reason.

That thought devastated Neal. He was a people person. He loved people and he would freely admit to being a softie when it came to the things that mattered like love and family and friendship. The thought that he might be part of the population of people who threatened those things … it enraged Neal.

Damn it. Elizabeth had really messed him up.

Neal was antsy, edgy and couldn't settle. He decided to put his nerves to good use and headed to the kitchen, opening and closing cupboards, searching for some new idea on how to break the chain. Nothing was infallible. Leverage, proper application, force, elements, tools, and methods: As many as he could remember flashed through his mind.

Then his head shot up. Neal straightened and turned. The simple little red extinguisher sat in the corner as if smugly waiting for Neal to notice it. Neal edged towards it. He regarded it warily.

He realized it could be perfect.

So, of course he turned and walked away, shaking his head, and trying to work out if he should acknowledge the fact he'd just seen a possibly perfect escape key. Then he spun and headed back into the kitchen, ignoring the protesting scrape of the steel chain as it whipped across the floor carried by momentum.

He was in front of the extinguisher again. He needed to find out (and hope) that the extinguisher was the type that would belt out sub-freezing temperatures. Foam would not help. It needed to be CO2. If it was then it would serve double as a heavy metal object to hit the chain with once it had been frozen. The steel would shatter and the chain would be in two. Of course it might not work, Neal had to admit inwardly; the steel might be too thick or the CO2 freezing properties may have been greatly exaggerated. Still, any possibility was worth investigating.

But.

Was this any different from pushing that button for emergencies on the wall?

Yes, Neal decided. Because this way he wouldn't be involving any third parties. He would just slip out, find a blacksmith (Mozzie) and run.

But the end result would still be the same. El would complete her threat and go to the Bureau and confess. And then Peter would want to die.

Neal picked up the extinguisher and carried it out of the kitchen and over to his bed. He placed it carefully on the ground and sat on the bed, staring at it with apprehension. From here, Neal couldn't see the classification details on the label. He would have to turn it for that. But he wasn't quite ready.

* * *

><p><strong>2:26pm<strong>

Peter was very quiet. Neal hadn't heard any sign of his arrival until the door was opening. Neal looked up like a deer caught in the headlights and froze. He knew it wouldn't take much for Peter to know what he was doing, sitting with a fire extinguisher at his feet.

Peter was concerned. He stood in the doorway, his mind filling in the blanks and his eyes flashing with realization. But Peter spoke gently if not with a tinge of curiosity to it. "Neal?"

Neal turned away, unable to answer the query. He leaned forward, tipped the extinguisher and spun it until he could read the label.

Then he sat back, letting the extinguisher wobble back into place and shrugged. "It's foam, anyway. It'll only cut off the flow of oxygen; smother the fire…." Smart woman.

Peter looked down, wondering how to handle this. Then he moved forward, nudging the door shut behind him.

"I'm guessing the talk with El didn't go well this morning?"

Neal felt it as Peter sat down beside him. Neal shrugged.

"I think El will be sufficiently pleased."

"Ah," Peter accepted, apologetically. "She made you feel bad?"

Neal cocked his head, and quirked his eyebrow for a second, conveying a cavalier attitude. Peter wasn't fooled. This had affected Neal. He needed to tread carefully.

Then Neal stood and like a switch had been flicked, Neal looked easy-going, casual and not in the slightest bit stressed. To the naked, untrained eye. Beneath it, Peter could see Neal's tense hips and shoulders.

Neal bent, picking up the extinguisher, and carried it to the kitchen. Peter followed his path with his eyes and stared as Neal popped back up, having replaced the extinguisher in its spot. He reminded Peter of a millionaire host; completely at ease in his mansion and wondering how to best entertain his guest. Neal tilted his head and smiled. "Coffee?"

Peter stood. He answered slowly with a hint of wariness that he knew Neal would notice in his tone. "Black." He nodded. "Please."

Neal seemed to receive the message. He toned down his exuberance and turned his back on Peter, heading to the coffee machine.

"Here in the middle of the day," Neal noted, lightly. "No crime going on?"

"Plenty," Peter answered gruffly as he reached the bench and leaned against it on his palms. "It's my lunch hour."

"Did you bring the files?" Neal asked as he turned to deposit a hot black coffee in front of Peter.

Peter paused. "In the car."

"Well," Neal spoke politely. "Could you please go get them?"

Peter sipped his coffee and when Neal didn't shift his gaze with that same expectant expression, Peter hastily lowered his mug. "You mean now?"

"Hmm." Neal nodded. "You'll forget later."

Peter frowned, indignant, preparing to argue the point, and then he stopped. He exhaled softly. "Neal," he murmured, worried. "What did you guys talk about?"

Neal grimaced, and then rolled his eyes, his redirection having failed. "Just the time I gave you the lollipop."

Peter frowned. Of all the things Elizabeth could have talked about … she'd picked the thing that bothered him the least?

Neal saw Peter's confusion. "Because it was the beginning; first impressions and all that."

And then it came back to Peter in a flash. The anxious, wary mood he'd lived with for months, wondering what Neal's next point of attack would be. The measures he'd taken to protect Elizabeth, the many, many profiles he'd read of Neal, each seemingly worse than the last.

Finally Peter pulled himself out of his mind and looked at Neal who was quietly, mildly tracing patterns on the bench.

"That," Peter started. "That wasn't something you meant. She's making you feel guilty because of our perception of you, Neal? Neal, that's not something that even I would blame you for."

Neal looked up, surprised.

Peter shook his head mildly. "I'll talk to her. This is ridiculous. She can't bring up issues like that. There are plenty of other things that you really do deserve to feel guilty about."

And Neal did appreciate Peter's opposition of El's view but then Neal remembered the gist of El's reasoning. He sighed. "She does have a point though; cross a line and there's bound to be consequences. Intended or otherwise."

"Sure," Peter threw out casually. "But blaming you for how the Bureau reacted after you gave me a lollipop is going too far."

"It's not that she blamed me, Peter," Neal said quietly. "She was trying to show me how something—even something that innocent—can have terrible effects."

Peter realized El had hit Neal where it hurt most, in the heart. There was only one person he'd listen to now.

"All right, well," Peter spoke, heavily, casting a look around. "Let's have some lunch and we'll worry about this later?"

He'd talk to Elizabeth when he got home, he decided. He'd leave work early. This was something he couldn't let fester. Elizabeth would fix this mess.

* * *

><p><strong>6:37pm<strong>

El was pretty strong-minded and determined when it came to things she cared enough to fight for, so Neal had accepted Peter's silent promise that he'd set the record straight with Elizabeth about the sorts of things she could condemn Neal for, but he hadn't expected anything to come of it.

So when Elizabeth entered the room that night after rapping politely and Neal saw in her eyes everything that he suspected Peter had told her, he inwardly corrected his earlier presumption. Yes, Elizabeth was strong-willed but she was also open, a good listener, fair, and reasonable.

She didn't look defeated. She didn't look guilty. She didn't even look apologetic. But Neal knew—he could see in her eyes—that she had listened to everything Peter had said, and judging by the depth in them, Neal could see Peter had actually successfully made a point.

"Neal?" She spoke cautiously, ignoring Satchmo's wet nosing. "Peter said you've been agonizing over our talk?"

"I have not been agonizing!" Neal protested, looking appalled. Whatever happened to brotherhood? The thing where men protected each other's image and helped keep each other looking tough.

Peter would probably argue that Neal ruined his tough image all on his own by fretting over suits and buying fabric softener, but that was beside the point.

There was a silence while Neal chewed his lip, wondering why he cared. Maybe he just didn't want Elizabeth thinking she'd gotten to him. That was fair enough, Neal told himself defensively.

"Neal," Elizabeth murmured gently, coming near him before turning and peering down and up to see Neal's supposedly uncaring expression. "I wasn't trying to make you feel bad. I don't want you feeling guilty."

Neal frowned and looked to the side, challenging her words visually.

El straightened and clasped her hands to stop herself from lifting Neal's unruly hair off his forehead. "Put it this way," she suggested. "In the future, when you see someone you know in the street who you've been playing a game with, or eluding, are you going to consider giving them a toy or chocolate and thanking them for the hard work they're doing without considering what happened last time you did that?"

Neal looked away, downwards. He moved back to lean against the bench which was behind him. He inhaled, taking his time with the question. Then he had to admit that it was probably impossible to consider anything of the sort without being reminded of the lollipop. So he exhaled and spoke without changing his stance. "Point."

Elizabeth nodded. "That's all I'm trying to do, Neal."

Neal looked at her. She was earnest in her statement. He suddenly realized that her aim hadn't only been to change his morals but to arm him with something he'd apparently always lacked his whole life: a sense of consequence.

"I'm trying to get you to think about it a little so that next time you're faced with a similar event you might—"

Neal nodded. "I get it."

"So that maybe next time you won't let—"

"El," Neal said softly.

"You can avoid getting hurt or imprisoned just by considering—"

"El," Neal said, louder. "I understand."

Elizabeth sighed. Neal realized that she was as worn out as he was. It was probably harder for her, because she held the power to call the whole thing off and was presumably fighting that temptation, day in, day out, probably telling herself that she'd come too far to give up.

Neal knew it was bad when he was internally wondering whether he wanted her to give in or not. Of course he wanted her to give in, but then he'd be surprised and a maybe a little dejected, because Elizabeth never gave up.

What if she did? If she did, he'd have to acknowledge that he was basically unsalvageable.

Neal didn't want to be unsalvageable. That white picket-fence life still beckoned. He wanted children someday—he could practically hear them: the sound of their little voices as they talked out their random thoughts, the feel of one tugging on his clothes to get his attention, the smell as a chocolate-covered face hugged him, the sight of the proud smile as one offered him a homemade mug for Father's Day.

Neal became aware of Elizabeth's close, analytical gaze on his face, so he smoothly spoke, careful to keep his expression the same. "Weren't you going to work late tonight?"

Elizabeth rolled her eyes. "Peter threatened me with a warrant to search my place of business if I didn't come out and talk to you."

"He did what?" Neal's eyes went wide. Peter had threatened Elizabeth's business with a warrant—something Fowler had done a little over three years ago. Elizabeth's business had recovered with Neal's help. Barely.

"Hmm," El murmured. "Overkill, though. I was already in the car after he told me you looked depressed."

"He said I looked depressed?" Neal was going to talk to Peter about a little something called dignity and how not to ruin his.

"I didn't know whether he was bluffing or not," El admitted. "It doesn't matter, though."

Neal braced his palms on the bench behind him; his palms had gotten sweaty with his arms crossed. "You came right over … why?"

"Neal," El spoke plainly. "Look what I've done to you. I have certain obligations. Making sure you're not out of sorts is one of them. The Neal Caffrey I know doesn't get depressed."

"The Elizabeth Burke I know doesn't kidnap people." Neal shrugged.


End file.
